


(my youth ain't) tangled up in bad decisions

by singsongsung



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Jason Blossom is Alive, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung
Summary: There is a Fleetwood Mac album playing on Jughead's record player.Won't you lay me down in the tall grass.Betty is hyper-aware of every single part of her body, from her toenails to her eyelashes.--Tired of fitting herself into uncomfortable moulds, Betty trades Jughead a milkshake in exchange for a very personal favour.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after an alternate version of canon. Veronica moved to Riverdale, Betty confessed her feelings to Archie, and Veronica & Archie eventually got together. 
> 
> Jason Blossom is still alive. Polly was never pregnant. There was no murder, no Serpent involvement, and FP never went to jail. Because of this, Betty and Jughead never started investigating Jason's death and therefore never got together. 
> 
> Title from "Number One" by Tove Styrke (the song Betty danced around to in her River Vixens uniform).

_by the way, by the way  
you do things to my body   
i didn't know that i was starving  
til i tasted you_  
\- hailee steinfeld, "starving"

 

 

Over Christmas break of senior year, the snow is so bright that it’s blinding. Betty wears a cheerful holiday sweater, but inside, she feels sullen. 

She’s felt defeated for over a week, since she received her letter from Columbia, notifying her that her application for early acceptance was successful. Her parents were thrilled, and her friends were happy for her, but the experience left her feeling empty. She’d wanted it for so long, worked so hard for it, but when she received that letter with the school crest emblazoned on it and read the words _We are pleased to inform you_ , everything remained the same. 

She’s been fantasizing about Columbia for two years now, about living in the city and learning _real_ journalism, and about becoming her own version of herself rather than the perfect, ever-helpful version that her whole town expects. But when the letter arrived, and her father said _you’re such a good girl, Betty_ and Archie said _of course you got in, Betts_ , it was as though, instead of the first, teasing taste of freedom she’d wanted so badly, she felt the person she already was being further cemented, like her epitaph was already being carved on her headstone: _Betty Cooper, a Good Girl._

And then her sister returns home for the holidays, and it’s as though Betty’s inner turmoil bursts out of her and infects her entire family. 

 

 

Polly comes home with a gorgeous, glistening ring sitting comfortably on her left hand. She says, “Jason asked me to marry him,” and their parents explode. 

Betty stares at the plate of perfectly decorated cookies sitting in the middle of the table and listens as her father yells. He says words like _unacceptable_ , phrases like _betrayal of trust_ and _removal of our finanical support._

Polly keeps her chin up, her jaw set. She says, simply, “I love him.”

 

 

Late at night, once she’s pretty sure their parents are asleep, Betty slips into her sister’s room. 

Polly’s still dressed, laying on top of her bedspread and staring at the ceiling. Betty joins her, inching close enough that their arms touch. 

“Are you okay, Pol?” she asks quietly. 

“I’m marrying him, Betty,” Polly says. “No matter what they say, no matter what they do.” She turns her head to look at Betty. “I want you to be my maid of honour.” 

Betty smiles for what feels like the first time since Polly walked in the door. She slips her hand into her sister’s. “I’d love to.” She lays her cheek against Polly’s shoulder and lets the moment linger for a bit before she asks, “Do you want some cookies?” 

Giggling and hushing each other like they’re little kids again, they tiptoe down to the kitchen.

 

 

Polly leaves on Christmas Day. The morning begins with an argument that escalates into screaming and crying and slammed doors. Polly leaves just after noon, after slipping her arms around Betty in a brief, painfully tight hug. 

Hal storms off almost immediately after Polly, retreating to the garage and banging around in there. The smell of the turkey cooking and the feel of Betty’s cozy, flannel Christmas pyjamas are at complete odds with the way her family is disintegrating around her. 

As always, Betty’s mother refuses to be fazed. Polly is gone and Hal is taking his frustration out on an engine, but Alice says, smooth as can be, “Well, honey, let’s open your presents.”

Dutifully, Betty unstuffs her stocking and opens her gifts while her mother works her way through two glasses of wine. When she’s done, she says, “Mom…” tentatively, but the absent look in Alice’s eyes prevents her from saying anything real. She swallows and says, instead, “Thank you.” 

Alice sets down her glass and joins Betty on the sofa, slipping an arm around her daughter and stroking her hair. Betty leans against her, cautiously hoping that her mother will talk to her about the mess their family is currently in. 

But Alice says, in a voice that’s soft and sad, “Elizabeth, you’re such a good daughter. I’m so happy to have a wonderful girl like you.”

Betty closes her eyes.

 

 

Returning to school is a great relief. Betty’s never been so happy to lean her shoulder against the locker next to Kevin’s, watching him rifle through a mess of papers. Listening to him answer her questions about his holiday break is a welcome distraction. 

“B!” 

Betty turns at the sound of Veronica’s voice, smiling at the sight of her friend, who’s marching determinedly toward her, Archie on her heels. 

“Hey,” she says, and half a second later Veronica’s wrapping her up in a hug. 

“B, I’m sorry,” she says, “What a shitty Christmas.” She pulls away and hands Betty a box of macarons. “Are you doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” Betty says. “Just…worried about Pol.”

Veronica nods. “How’s she doing?” 

“Okay, I think.” Betty shrugs. “She’s - she’s not backing down at all. She’s not giving my parents any ground.” 

Archie, who’s in the midst of slipping one arm around Betty’s waist to give her half a hug, says, “Wow.” 

He says it casually, simply, and it shouldn’t mean anything - she knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, knows it’s not pointed in any way. And yet, when he says that, Betty hears a subtext that makes her feel like she’s burning from the inside out: _Wow. Betty would never do that._

 

 

After school, Betty hunkers down in the Blue & Gold office. Technically, she has River Vixens practice, but one of the benefits of being best friends with the cheer captain is that she can skip it without fear of reprisal. She texts Veronica _can’t today_ and Veronica sends back a heart and says _eat the macarons!!_

She takes off her winter boots and tucks her feet up underneath her. Once she’s opened her computer, she begins flicking through the photos she’s contemplating including with one of the articles in the next issue, and opens the box of macarons, biting into one and chewing slowly as she considers whether to print one particular photograph in black and white or colour. 

Jughead comes in about twenty minutes later, and she waves at him since her mouth is full of macaron. 

“Hey,” he says, setting down his bag and shrugging off his coat. “I thought you’d be in the gym reenacting _Bring It On_.” 

She shakes her head and holds the box of sweets out to him. “Want one?” 

He takes an orange one and pops the whole thing in his mouth, taking a seat on her desk. As he chews, he glances at the article she’s proofreading. “You hate my semi-colons.” 

“You overuse them.” 

He’s quiet for a beat and then he says, “So. As much as I try to avoid the incessant buzz of high school gossip… I heard.” His eyes are sympathetic. “I’m sorry about everything with your sister.” 

“Thanks,” she says softly. 

“You alright?” 

Betty shrugs. “It was a terrible Christmas. I mean, you know my mother - it was like she wanted to pretend everything that was happening just… wasn’t. And my dad… ” She shakes her head a little. “I’ve never seen him that angry. Usually it’s my mom who blows up at us, but he was...furious.” She leans back in her chair. “Polly left on Christmas Day.”

“I’m sorry, Betty.”

She offers him a sad smile, a wordless thank-you. “The worst thing, besides my mother pretending everything is completely normal, is that Cheryl won’t stop texting me. She thinks I can convince Polly not to marry her brother.” 

Jughead snags another macaron. “I do not miss that girl.” 

“Neither do I.” She reaches up to tighten her ponytail. “How was your break?”

“It was okay. I went to Ohio and saw my mom and Jelly for a few days.”

“How are they?” 

“Pretty good. My mom just got her GED. And Jellybean’s in a major Pearl Jam phase.” 

That makes Betty smile. “I miss her.”

Jughead nods. “She said to say hi to you and Archie.” 

“Are you still thinking about going to Ohio State?” 

“I don’t know,” he says. “We’ll see where I get in.” 

“You’ll get in everywhere, Jug,” she says with a slight roll of her eyes - they’ve had this conversation a few times now. 

“I don’t have fifteen extracurriculars like you,” he teases. 

“You’re smart,” Betty says firmly. “You’ll get in.” 

He lays a hand on his chest. “Your confidence in me warms my cold, dead heart.” 

She gives her eyes a more exaggerated roll. “Go write something without twelve semi-colons.”

“Yes, boss,” he says, snagging one more macaron before he slides off her desk and heads for his own. 

 

 

Betty spends the evening in her room. She puts on her favourite, super-comfortable grey pyjama shorts, tucks her legs under her blankets, and alternates between watching _How I Met Your Mother_ on Netflix and writing in her diary. She has homework she should be doing, but she can’t summon the motivation, not with the muted sound of her parents fighting downstairs seeping beneath her closed door. 

Something moves in her peripheral vision, and she turns her head to see Veronica, perfectly framed by Archie’s bedroom window. She’s wearing her flirtatious smile, lipstick all kissed off, and Betty feels a stab of envy so abrupt that it startles her. It’s not about Archie - she’s been over Archie for years now. It’s about Veronica’s smile and the happiness in it, how unadulterated it is, how easy. 

Veronica disappears from view and Betty forces herself to refocus on her computer, but she’s watching the season where Lily leaves to go to San Francisco, and the envious sensation lodged at the base of Betty’s throat remains. 

She wants to be like Veronica, who was never hesitant about Archie, who’s never hesitant about _anything_. She wants to be like her sister, so sure in her decisions, so at peace with whatever consequences might come her way. She wants to be like Lily Aldrin, making her own choices, even if they’re selfish, even if they’re questionable. 

She doesn’t want to be this girl anymore, whose decisions are informed, always, by what is good, what is right, what will please others. Soon she’ll be eighteen, soon she’ll move to New York City; the potential for change, for freedom, is endless, but she’s terrified that this is the only girl she knows how to be. 

 

 

The idea occurs to Betty late at night. Her room is too warm, the heat turned up too high, and she is wide awake. Her legs slide together restlessly. 

The thought slithers into her mind like a snake, winding itself around her brain with a grip that is suddenly tight - the kind of thought her therapist would call _intrusive_. She’s alarmed by it, her fingers curling into fists on instinct, but she forces her hands to relax and lays them flat on her stomach, exploring the thought for just a moment. 

Betty talks herself out of the idea and then orders herself to sleep, breathing in a steady pattern and trying to implement one of her ‘strategies’ from therapy, relaxing each limb, each muscle in her body, one by one. 

She only sleeps for three hours, fully awake again at six, so she throws off her blankets and gets ready for the day. 

 

 

She gets to school around half past seven and heads for the Blue & Gold office. To her surprise, Jughead is already there, sitting at his desk and chewing on the end of a pencil. 

“Hey, Betts,” he says, smiling at her. He looks tired and grumpy, but his smile reaches his eyes, and the snake in her mind gives Betty’s brain a long, lingering squeeze. 

Jughead’s brow furrows when she doesn't reply, and he asks, “You okay?”

She nods quickly, pulling up a smile for him and sitting down at her own desk. Her organs feel like they’re trembling inside her body, a familiar anxious feeling. _Alright_ , she tells herself. _It’s alright. Just think this through._

She stares at the black screen of her computer for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. Despite her attempt at concentration, her gaze drifts back to Jughead. He’s frowning at his own computer, and his hair clearly hasn’t been brushed yet today. 

He must feel her gaze, because he looks up at her. “Betty, what?” he asks. “Do I have food on my face?” 

Betty shakes her head. “Sorry, Jug.” 

“It’s okay,” he says easily. “It’s early.” 

“Yeah.” Betty trains her eyes on her computer screen, but half a second later she’s glancing back at him, looking away quickly this time so that he doesn’t catch her. 

She doesn’t want to think it through, the shaky feeling in her body, the thought her mind is wrapped in. She’s is so tired of thinking - she just wants to _do_.

 

 

In spite of her fantasies of impulsivity, Betty puts herself together very carefully. She curls her ponytail, so that it has some extra bounce, and wears a red lipstick Polly left behind when she went to Harvard. She ties a knot in her blue sleeveless blouse just over her bellybutton, and leaves two more buttons undone at her neck than she normally would. Over a pair of wooly black tights, she slips on a hunter green skirt. 

She examines herself in the mirror, and feels confident for a half-second before she immediately begins to feel unsure. Part of her brain tells her to forget this whole idea, and she shakes her head to clear it. She meets her eyes in the mirror and tells herself, “ _Go_.” 

She drives to Pop’s and picks up a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream and then crosses town, headed for Sunnyside trailer park.

Jughead opens the door of the trailer in a wrinkled t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants. “Betty,” he says, his surprise evident in his voice. 

“Oh my god, did I wake you?” she asks, flushing. It’s just after eleven, but it _is_ the weekend. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you didn’t. Come in,” he adds, stepping aside. “It’s freezing out.” 

“Thanks.” Betty waits until he’s closed the door to hand him the milkshake. “This is for you.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jughead says, raking a hand through his hair before he takes it. “What’s the occasion?” 

She almost licks her lips, but remembers her lipstick just in time. “Is your dad here?” 

He shakes his head. 

Betty exhales, relieved. “I, um… I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Ah, so it’s a _bribe_ ,” he says, smiling. He takes a long drink through the straw. “I accept. C’mon in, Betts, take your coat off.” 

Jughead moves toward the terribly-patterned couch, sitting down, while Betty takes off her peacoat and lays it carefully on the back of the recliner. She takes a step toward the couch and Jughead looks at her again, his brow creasing and his eyes betraying some confusion as he takes in her outfit. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks. 

“No,” Betty says, despite the goosebumps rising on her arms and on her chest. She sits down on the opposite end of the couch. 

Jughead is studying her like she’s a puzzle he wants to solve. “What’s up?”

She crosses her legs and resists the urge to tug at the hem of her skirt when it rides up her thighs. “I don’t know how to say this.” 

The confusion on his face morphs into concern. “It’s okay. Is something going on with your family?” 

She shakes her head, clasping her hands tightly together to keep them from shaking. “No, it’s just… me.” 

“Hey,” he says, and he waits until she lifts her eyes to his face, meeting his gaze, to add, “You can tell me.” 

Betty swallows. “I was wondering… ”

He gives an encouraging nod, slurping more milkshake through his straw. 

She draws in a long, deep breath and releases it, her shoulders lifting and falling, and she will ask this, she will say this, she will not chicken out, she will be brave enough to change. “I was wondering,” she repeats, keeping her tone as casual as if she’s discussing the weather, “if you’d have sex with me.” 

Jughead splutters and immediately begins to cough the hard, urgent cough of someone who’s inhaled their drink rather than swallowed it. He puts a fist to his mouth, coughing into it, and then thumps that same fist lightly against his chest. Betty winces, her cheeks heating up rapidly. She digs her fingernails into her tights, where the thin, woolen fabric covers her knee. 

“ _What?_ ” Jughead finally manages to say. He coughs a couple more times and then has a sip of the milkshake to soothe his throat. 

Her nails cut through her tights and she watches as they dig into her cold skin. “I don’t want to go to college a virgin,” she says softly. 

He sets the milkshake down. “Betty… virginity’s a social construct.” 

With effort, she pulls her hand away from her knee. “ _I’m_ a social construct.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” Her fingers switch. “I mean I’m just, like, a collection of other people’s expectations. When I leave here, I want to be… me. Whoever that is.” 

Jughead pushes his messy hair back, tugging at it slightly. “What does… sex have to do with that?” 

She shrugs. “I’m going to show up there looking like a virgin. At least I could not actually be one.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good reason to have sex,” he says slowly. “Don’t you want to wait and - ”

“If you say something about _finding a special someone_ ,” Betty cuts in, “I’m leaving. And I’m taking the milkshake.” 

He grins briefly - he’s always liked it when she breaks from her perfect mould, and that’s part of the reason he’s the right person for this. “Betts, I don’t know. This is just… it’s a big deal.”

“You _just_ said it’s a social construct.” 

He looks at her for a moment and sighs, reaching over and touching the neckline of her shirt. “Do these up,” he says, nodding to her buttons. “You’ve gotta be cold.” 

Slowly, she buttons her blouse up to its collar. “If - if I’m not what you… _like_ , that’s okay, I get it, I - ”

“Betty.” He bumps a closed fist lightly against her thigh to halt her words. “You’re beautiful. Obviously. That’s not the problem.” 

She bites the inside of her bottom lip. “So what is the problem?” 

“We’re friends,” Jughead says. “You’re one of my _only_ friends.” 

She feels herself soften. “Juggie, we’ll always be friends.” 

He drums his fingers on his leg and then pushes his hand through his hair again. “I don’t know. I’m having trouble understanding why this is so important to you.” 

“Because it’s what I want.” She releases a breath slowly. “I just want to do what I _want_.” 

Jughead’s eyes travel over her face, his expression thoughtful. “We - we should think about it.”

“We?”

“Yeah. You… you think about this more, make sure it’s really what you want. And I’ll… I’ll just think about… it.” 

“For how long?” 

He laughs. “Why, you have other candidates in the running?” 

She shrugs, smiling a little. “I could ask Reggie.” 

“Do not do that,” he says immediately. “Do not ask Reggie.” 

Betty laughs, biting her bottom lip briefly despite her carefully applied lipstick. “You’re going to think about it?” 

Jughead nods. He picks his milkshake back up. “And so are you.” 

 

 

tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, do you still have any of that gum that tastes like sour p - ” Kevin’s sentence stops abruptly. 

Betty’s sitting at her vanity, scribbling down a rough outline for the project they’re supposed to be working on for their European History class. “Like what?” she asks distractedly. 

“Well, _well_ ,” Kevin says, in a much less casual tone. “What do we have here?” 

She turns around and sees him pulling an issue of _Cosmopolitan_ out from where she’d stashed it behind all her books in her backpack. She orders herself not to blush. “It’s a magazine.”

“It’s _Cosmo_.”

“Yeah. So?” 

“So… Betty Cooper doesn’t read _Cosmo_ ,” Kevin says, shifting down her bed so that he’s sitting at the foot of it, closer to her. 

“Maybe she does,” Betty says, hoping that her words sound breezy, and turns back to her outline. 

“Why do you have this?” Kevin presses.

“To read, Kev; obviously.” 

“But _why_?”

“I don’t know. For fun.” She tries to ease her vice-like grip on the pencil in her hand. 

“For fun,” Kevin repeats skeptically. “You’re going to read _52 New and Exciting Ways to Please Your Man_ for fun.” 

Her pencil cuts through the sheet of paper she’s writing on, ripping it. “Why not?” 

“No,” he says thoughtfully. “No, I know you. This is - oh my god, this is _research_.” When Betty looks back at him reluctantly, his eyes are lit up. “Who’s the guy?” 

“There isn’t a guy.” 

“Is it Trev?” he asks eagerly. “Tell me it’s Trev.”

“There isn’t a guy, Kevin.” 

“Oh, god, tell me it isn’t Reggie,” he groans. “I know he’s always checking out your ass at games, but - ”

Betty’s mouth falls open. “He’s _what_?”

That tempers Kevin’s glee, but only for a moment. “Sorry. I thought that was common knowledge.” 

“It’s not common knowledge and it’s _not_ true. And there isn’t a guy.” She snatches the magazine from Kevin’s hands. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” he asks, and beneath all his enthusiasm, she can hear hurt sneaking into his voice. 

“There’s nothing to tell. Okay? There is no guy. Can we do this project now?” 

He examines her for a moment. “Isn’t this a good thing?” he finally says softly. “That… you’re into someone? You've kind of been out of the game since the whole Archie thing in sophomore year.” 

“I’m not _into_ anyone,” Betty says, her voice firm with finality. 

“You’re the colour of a fire engine,” he mumbles stubbornly, but he relents: “Fine. Tell me what you need me to do.” 

Betty shoves the magazine into a drawer and hands him the outline, forcing herself to drop her shoulders down from where they’ve crept up toward her ears, and starts talking through their tasks. 

 

 

She gives Jughead three full days to think about it, and, true to her word, she thinks it over too. She considers the possible consequences (awkwardness, weirdness, embarrassment) and decides the benefits outweigh the risks. Jughead’s not the kind of person who invests a lot of energy into worrying about the kinds of things that most high school students might find painfully awkward, and he saw her in her bikini repeatedly last summer - nudity is only a short step away, really. 

Her stubborn streak won’t let her change her mind. She wants to do this, so she will. 

They’re in the Blue & Gold office together on Wednesday after school, and she’s pleased that nothing feels strange between them. They’re still just Jughead and Betty, the only people at Riverdale High invested in getting the school paper to print every week. 

He’s busy uploading photos onto his computer from an SD card, and Betty pushes her chair away from her desk, leaning back in it. She’s trying to write an article for the sports section, but she’s so bored by the water polo team that it’s turning out terribly. 

She sets her palms on her shoulders and digs her fingers into the back of her neck, trying to ease some of the built-up tension there. There’s a knot of muscle on her right side where neck meets shoulder. 

Completely uninterested in resuming her efforts to write the water polo piece, she glances over at Jughead. Over the past couple days, she’s been _noticing_ him more, taking note of things about him that her eyes slid over in the past. He’s ceased to be just her childhood friend and has turned, instead, into a boy she might sleep with, and with that possibility in her mind, Betty is struck by just how thick his hair is, how it tends to fall out from under his beanie and into his face in a way that’s not exactly unattractive. She is struck by his hands, by the callouses between forefingers and thumbs, by the length of his fingers and the striking delicacy of his wrists. She notices his shoulders beneath his jackets; she notices where his jeans sit on his hips. She doesn’t think of him differently, but the way she sees him has been altered. 

Betty wants to bring her proposal up again, but the boldness of that idea prevents the words from forming in her mouth. Instead, she decides to tiptoe close to the topic, to give him more facts to consider - Betty is, above all else, a believer in making informed decisions. 

So she says, “Hey, Jughead?”

“Mmhm?” he replies, squinting slightly as he looks at his screen. 

“Just so you know, I’m on the pill.” 

He sits up straight so quickly that his elbow knocks a nearby stapler onto the floor. When he looks at her, there is a lot of amusement, a hint of frustration, and something else she can’t pinpoint in his expression. He jabs a pen in her direction. “You need to learn the art of a good segue, Cooper.” 

Betty glances down and then looks back up at him through her lashes. “Sorry.” 

Looking curious, he asks, “How, exactly, did you manage that under Alice Cooper’s watchful eye?” 

She shrugs. “I have my ways.” She doesn’t need to tell him that a little hormonal regulation is useful if she wants to moderate what her mother euphemistically calls her _fragile emotional stability_. She lets her eyes flick over his face. “So… don’t worry about that. If you were.” 

“Noted,” he says, nodding slowly. He must see expectation in her face, because he says, “I’m still thinking.” 

“Okay,” she says softly. 

“I mean - ” Jughead swivels in his chair to face her fully. “Believe me, Betts, I’m… honoured, I just - ”

“Coffee delivery!” Veronica’s voice rings out as she strides into the room, a tray with three styrofoam cups on it in her hands. 

As both she and Jughead turn away from each other quickly, like they’ve been caught at something, Betty makes her voice bright and says, “Thanks, V. You didn’t have to do that.”

Veronica waves away Betty’s words. “It’s freezing out and Archie’s still at practice, so I figured I’d drop in on you newsies.” She glances between them as if suddenly sensing the tension in the air, the halted conversation, and one of her eyebrows lifts in a perfect arch. “What were you two talking about?”

“Water polo,” Betty says, at the exact same time Jughead says, “Layout,” and Veronica’s other eyebrow lifts as well. 

Jughead touches a hand to the top of his head, as though making sure that his beanie is still securely on, and amends, “Layout for the water polo piece Betty’s writing.” 

“Alright,” Veronica says slowly, though she looks suspicious. She sets a cup in front of Betty. “Decaf vanilla bean latte with chocolate sprinkles,” she says, and then holds Jughead’s cup out to him. “Dark roast.” 

“Sweet nectar of the gods,” Jughead says, accepting it. “Thanks, Veronica.” 

“No thanks needed,” she says, sitting down atop Betty’s desk and crossing her legs neatly at the ankles. “So, what were you _really_ talking about? Give me the dirt. I promise I’ll keep my lips sealed.” 

“No dirt, V,” Betty says. She takes a long drink of her latte.

“Come on. I thought you two were supposed to have your ears to the ground.” 

Betty shrugs and offers her an apologetic smile. “Sometimes there just isn’t anything to hear.” 

Veronica narrows her eyes, inspecting Betty for a moment before she turns her gaze to Jughead. “You look secretive.”

He’s concentrating on his computer again, editing photos, and he doesn’t look up when he says, “That’s just my face.” 

“Hm,” Veronica says, tapping her fingers against the side of her own cup of coffee thoughtfully, but after a moment she seems to accept what he’s said, and turns her attention back to Betty. “You will never believe this, B,” she says with purposeful drama. “Archie wants me to watch _all_ of the _Star Wars_ movies.”

 

 

Reggie throws a party on the weekend, and Betty is actually able to attend for once. Her parents are so distracted by Polly that when she tells her mother she’s going to sleep over at Veronica’s, Alice doesn’t give her the third degree. 

She arrives at the party with Veronica and Archie, wearing a black high-waisted skirt of her own and a cropped top of Veronica’s, the hem of which she tugs at repeatedly, self-conscious of the strip of skin over her abdomen that is always just one movement away from being revealed. 

She spends most of the evening with Kevin, since his mysterious Southside boyfriend couldn’t come. Archie and Veronica are lost to them about an hour in, making out on one of the couches in the Mantle rec room. 

Kevin manages to wait until she’s halfway through her solo cup of lukewarm beer to say, “Betty, who is it? You have to tell me. I’m dying, here.”

Betty blinks at him, tugging at her shirt again. “Who is… what?”

“Who’s the _guy_ ,” Kevin says, leaning toward her. “Is he here?” 

She sighs. “Kev, stop. I thought we were done talking about this.” 

“And I thought we were friends. I thought we told each other everything.” 

She looks at his face and sighs. “Don’t give me your puppy dog eyes.” 

“You’ve left me no choice,” he says, but he drops his pout and then says, more seriously, “Why won’t you tell me?”

“It’s just…” She stares down into her cup. “It’s personal.” 

“Are you… in love with this guy, or something?”

“No!” she says, looking up at him. “No.” 

“Is he older? Is he a _teacher_? Are you having an illicit affair with - ”

“ _No_ , Kevin,” she cuts him off. 

He crosses his arms. “I don’t like this mysterious side of you.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Get used to it,” she teases. 

Kevin shakes his head fondly, plucking her cup out of her hand and setting it down amidst several other discarded cups. He takes her hand in his. “Come on, you mystery. Let’s go dance.” 

 

 

Veronica falls asleep the instant her head hits her silk pillowcase. Betty takes off her heels for her, tucks the blankets around her gently, sweeps her hair out of her face, and makes sure that Veronica’s in the Bacchus position - she doesn’t think Veronica’s _that_ drunk, but Betty is a safe-rather-than-sorry type of girl. 

Betty slips out of her clothes quietly and puts on a pair of Veronica’s pyjamas, a lacy camisole and pants printed with roses. She slides into the bed next to her friend and discovers, the moment she’s horizontal, that she’s not tired at all. 

With a sigh, she gets back out of bed and tiptoes to the living room, where she curls up in the corner of the couch with her phone in one hand. She scrolls through Facebook for a moment, looking through the photos her drunk classmates have posted, all of them looking silly and careless, on the edge of the rest of their lives. 

Betty opens up her favourited contacts and calls her sister. Polly doesn’t pick up, which isn’t surprising, considering the late hour. Her voicemail greeting hasn’t changed: _Hey, you’ve reached Polly Cooper! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you soon!_

“Hi, Pol,” Betty says softly after the beep. “I guess you’re sleeping. I just wanted to call and say hi. I miss you.” Abruptly, her throat tightens, and her eyes prickle with tears. “Mom and Dad will _not_ stop fighting. I really wish you were here. I know they’re fighting about you, but I - ” She tugs at a loose thread in Veronica’s PJ pants. “I want you to be happy, Polly. I love you so much. But they’re just so terri - ”

The answering service cuts her off with a long, loud beep. 

She sighs, closing out of her contacts and scrolling through her messages instead. She passes over conversations with Kevin, Archie, Veronica, her mother, and the River Vixens group chat before she reaches her text history with Jughead. The bulk of their messages have to do with the school paper. She couldn’t text him now, even if she wanted to - she doesn’t know what she’d say. 

Betty sets her phone down on the cushion next to her and hugs her knees to her chest. She stays like that for a few minutes, chin resting against a kneecap, before she gets up and goes back to Veronica’s bed. 

 

 

She wakes in the morning to a half-asleep Veronica curling against her side, muttering grumpily about the sunlight. Betty laughs softly, drowsily, and Veronica murmurs something about getting brunch before drifting off again with her cheek on Betty’s shoulder and her dark hair in her face. 

Carefully, Betty reaches over to the bedside table and grabs her phone. It’s quarter to ten, and she received a text from her mother at eight-oh-nine that says _we expect you home for lunch._ Archie, knowing that Betty will wake first, has also texted: _breakfast @ Pop’s?_

Her other messages are from her sister. _Hang in there, baby sis_ , Polly’s written. _A few more months and then you’re out of there too. I love you so much right back._ Her next message, sent a minute after the first, says, _Delete that so mom doesn’t see._

Betty stares at the second message for a long time, her throat aching. Eventually, she does what it advises, deleting both texts from her sister. She switches to her conversation with Archie and replies _be our delivery boy_. 

She sets her phone back down, pulls the blankets up to her chin, and joins Veronica in another hour of slumber. 

 

 

After school on Friday, Betty walks quickly into the Blue & Gold office, already in her cheerleading uniform. There’s a football game starting shortly, but Jughead texted her about a story that has the potential to be big, so she’s making a stop to check in with him. 

“I don’t have long,” she says by way of greeting, dropping her bag and her coat on her desk. 

Jughead turns his computer monitor so that she can read what’s on it. She braces both of her hands atop his desk, leaning down a little as she skims the article he’s working on. “Holy fuck,” she says, her mouth falling open. 

He puts a hand to his throat, feigning shock. “I didn’t know a virgin mouth could speak such crude words.” 

She swats him. “Is this _real_? Like, you’re sure?” 

“It was in the Centreville paper,” he shrugs, pointing at the part of his article that cites it. “Music teacher let go after criminal charges are raised in a case involving a minor.” 

“What do you think happened?” 

Jughead shrugs. “No idea. I’m going to keep digging, but I don’t know if that information’s out there.” 

“Do you think it was… sexual?” 

“I would say that you’ve got a bit of a one-track mind lately, but I’m not sure what else it could be.” 

Betty nods, contemplating that, and then catches sight of the time in the corner of the screen. “Crap,” she says, straightening immediately. “The game starts in five. I have to go.” 

“Right.” Jughead tips back dangerously far in his chair, daring it to support his weight. “I’ll keep working on this and send you the final draft when I’m done? You can tell me if all the connections are too tenuous.” 

“Yeah, that would be great,” Betty says, gathering her things quickly. “I’ll let you know what I think tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he reminds her. 

She tosses him a quick smile. “News doesn’t sleep, Jug.” 

“And neither does Betty Cooper,” he teases her. His eyes move from her face to her hands, which are at work closing the clasp on her bookbag, and then to - her feet? Her _legs?_

“Talk tomorrow?” she says over her shoulder, walking briskly toward the door - Veronica might love her, but she probably won’t hesitate to kill Betty if she’s not in position for their first formation. 

“Betty.”

She stops and turns when he says her name. He’s standing now. “Yeah?” she asks. 

Jughead walks toward her at what feels like a painfully slow pace. Betty glances at the clock on the wall; she has three minutes to be on the football field. 

When he stops in front of her, he doesn’t say anything, just looks at her in a way that’s almost uncomfortably intense. Worried about her imminent tardiness, Betty dips her chin a little, trying to catch his gaze. “What?” 

His response is a kiss. He presses his lips to hers and his hands are on her cheeks, her jaw, fingertips slipping into her hair, and Betty is completely thrown for a millisecond, but on instinct, she kisses him back, her mouth moving against his, her hands pressing firmly to his chest. She can feel his heart beating against her palm. 

As they pull apart, she blinks her eyes open and finds that he has a smile on his lips, one so soft and easy she doesn’t think she’s ever seen it before. He’s still touching her face, and her own fingers curl around his wrists. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, on an exhale. His gaze drops to her mouth again. 

It’s in that moment, sixty or ninety seconds after her first kiss with someone who’s not Veronica, that Betty realizes Jughead’s been noticing her, too. 

 

 

tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments & kudos! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you like! I'm at lessoleilscouchants.

After her post-game shower, Betty puts on her pyjamas, moisturizes her face, and twists her damp hair up into a bun. She sits crossed-legged on her bedspread and opens her unread messages on her phone. Veronica’s text says _girl I know you’re going through some stuff but you HAVE TO be on time for games. you need to be there to spot your partner stunt!!!_ and Kevin’s message reads _mantle was checking u out again_. Betty rolls her eyes at Kevin’s text and types a quick apology to Veronica, complete with a promise that it will never happen again. 

Then she opens her conversation history with Jughead and types, _did you mean ok like kissing me was ok? or ok like yes?_ She bites her lip and then sends the message before she can chicken out. 

To her surprise, he replies almost immediately: _ok like yes_. 

Betty grins like an idiot, flopping back against her pillows and pressing her phone to her chest.

 

 

She sees him next at lunch hour; he’s already at a table with Archie and Veronica when she arrives. She slides onto the bench next to him - her usual spot, since Veronica and Archie seem to find it impossible to go thirty-five minutes without touching each other. 

“Hi,” she says, and she’s sort of surprised at the pitch of her voice. She sounds like her fourteen-year-old self talking to Archie, breathy with hope. 

“Hey, Betts,” Jughead says (in his normal voice, she notes), and Veronica and Archie say hi too. 

The conversation is mostly about _Star Wars_ : Veronica is whining, Archie is staunchly defending the franchise in its entirety, and Jughead has some complicated cinematic opinions Betty can’t follow since she’s only seen the most recent movie. 

While Veronica is giggling flirtatiously, insisting that Archie will have to watch _Legally Blonde_ to make all the space movies up to her, Betty chances a glance at Jughead. He’s looking back at her, and he quirks his eyebrows in a gesture she can’t quite decipher before he reaches over and takes a couple of her chips. 

“Hey. Hey, Betty.” 

She looks up at Archie when she realizes he’s talking to her, and sees that he’s frowning slightly. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah!” she says brightly. “Of course.” She licks her lips, trying to think of something to contribute to the conversation, and goes with the safest option she can think of: “I agree with Ronnie.” 

Veronica beams, turning to Archie in triumph, and beneath the table, Betty feels Jughead’s knee nudge hers. 

 

 

She heads for the Blue & Gold office after school with a dry mouth. She feels suddenly self-conscious of her outfit of jeans, a pale blue tee, and a white cardigan - could she _be_ more boring? 

Jughead’s already there, crouching with his feet in the seat of his chair like he tends to when he’s chasing a particularly good story. “Hey,” he says when he sees her come in. 

“Hey,” she echoes. She puts her things down and decides, on impulse, to shrug off her cardigan. 

“Busy agenda for the staff meeting,” he says. His voice is light, like it was at lunch, but she wonders now if it’s _too_ light, if its easiness is forced. “You want to start with the plan to investigate Miss Grundy, or the plan to investigate each other?” 

She’s pretty sure her cheeks go strawberry red, and she lifts her hands to her cheeks, touching her warm skin briefly. 

He grins at the sight of her blush, but there’s something gentle in his voice when he says, “Your call, Betts.” 

“Are you going to make jokes the whole time?” she asks, dropping her hands. 

“Unless you ask me to stop.” 

She puts her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.”

“Touché.” 

With the moment of banter over, Betty starts to feel nervous again. Her fingertips press into her hips, seeking some kind of stability. “So, um.” She perches on the edge of her desk, still facing him. “Should we… get a hotel room, or something?” 

He shakes his head. “My dad’s out late every Saturday.” 

“But… what if he comes home early?”

Simply, Jughead says, “He won’t.” 

She wants to ask _are you sure?_ , but she can see in his expression that he is, and that provokes about twenty other questions in her mind. She hasn’t had much interaction with Jughead’s father over the years, but she knows FP struggles with alcohol, and she knows Jughead’s mother took his little sister and left for a related reason. 

“Okay,” she says, and does some quick mental math to figure out when her next period is before she adds, “This Saturday, then?”

His eyebrows lift. “You sure? We can wait a while.” 

Betty shakes her head. “If you’re okay with it, then… Saturday is good.”

“Okay,” Jughead says slowly. “Saturday it is.”

“Eight o’clock?” 

His lips twitch into a brief smile. “Sure.” 

“Okay.” Betty smiles, too, and straightens from where she’s leaning against her desk. “So, are there new developments in your Miss Grundy suspicions?” 

“Sort of.” Jughead gets out of his crouch and sits down on his chair normally. Betty pulls her own chair over, its wheels squeaking against the floor. “I have a name,” he says. “For the Centreville case. Jennifer Gibson.” 

“Not Geraldine Grundy.” 

“No. _But_ …” Jughead pulls over one of their old issues, flipping it open. “Remember the teacher profile you did on Grundy?” He points to a place toward the bottom of the page. “She said she taught at Centreville High.” 

Betty presses her lips together in thought. “But… if she had charges brought against her there, why would she have told me that? It would have been a huge risk.” 

“Maybe not such a risk, if she changed her name. And - ” He minimizes a couple windows on his computer until he gets to the one he’s looking for, another news piece from Centreville. “The charges were eventually dropped.” 

“I don’t know, Jug,” she says. “It sort of seems like a reach. Why would she stay so close? Why wouldn’t she move across the country or even across the ocean, where no one would recognize her?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’ll try and find out, if you think I should.” 

Betty’s listed as the editor of the Blue & Gold, which means this is technically her decision, but generally, she thinks of the two of them as a team. “What do you think?” She doesn’t have to wait for an answer; she can see it in his face. “You want to keep going.”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I just have a weird feeling about this.” 

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “So keep digging. I trust your instincts.” 

“Including my basic ones, apparently.” 

Betty levels him with her best withering look, and he puts a decent amount of effort into keeping his smirk in check. 

 

 

Betty’s week is eaten up by River Vixens practices, hours of studying for her upcoming AP Calculus test, and a truly horrible family dinner. 

Her mother puts on an apron and makes steak, potatoes, steamed carrots, green beans, and even an apple crumble for dessert. There is a ton of food, but at the table, neither of Betty’s parents eat; her mother holds the stem of a glass of red wine, and her father is nursing a glass of whiskey. Betty feels so incredibly awkward about being the only one eating that she ends up just poking at her mashed potatoes with the tines of her fork. 

“Elizabeth,” Alice finally says, breaking the painful silence. “We’d like to tell you something.” 

Betty half-drops, half-sets her fork down; it makes a clattering sound against the edge of her plate. “Are you getting divorced?” 

Both of her parents look surprised, and Hal puts his drink down. “No, sweetheart. No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

Her eyes flick back and forth between them. “You’ve just… you’ve been fighting so much lately, so when you said that, I thought… ”

“Your father and I are very happy together,” Alice says, which Betty _knows_ is a lie, but it’s not one she’s going to fight her mother on. 

“So… what’s going on?” she asks cautiously. 

Hal clears his throat and folds his hands. “We’re removing your sister from our will.” 

It takes Betty a beat to digest that. “What? You’re _disowning_ her?” 

Alice folds her hands as well, and now Betty’s parents are in the exact same Stepford position, the exact same placid Stepford looks on their faces, and she’s like a girl in a horror movie, looking from one to the other, completely unable to comprehend what’s happening. 

“Your sister is over eighteen, Betty. _Disowning_ is a strong word. _Disinheriting_ is more accurate.”

Betty is in no mood to debate semantics. “All of this because of _Jason_?”

“We cannot accept your sister associating with that family,” Hal says stonily. 

“ _Why?_ ” Betty cries. “He’s a Blossom, but he’s not as bad as his parents, or even his sister, and he _loves_ Polly. He makes her happy.” Her breath catches in her throat. “She’s your _daughter_.” 

“We made our opinion on this matter very clear to Polly. She chose to ignore it.”

“She didn’t do anything _wrong_.” 

“It’s a complicated situation, honey,” Alice says. “It’s alright if you don’t understand it right now. We just want you to be aware that you’re now our sole beneficiary.” 

Betty blinks repeatedly. “I don’t _want_ to be.” 

“Elizabeth,” her father says, frowning. 

She turns to him. “Are you serious? You’re never going to speak to Polly again?” 

Neutrally, Hal says, “She may still change her mind about this foolish marriage.” 

“Oh my god,” Betty breathes, pushing her chair back from the table. 

“You are _not_ excused, Betty,” Alice says. “Eat your green beans.” She smiles. “There’s dessert.” 

“I’m excusing myself,” she says, getting up and walking toward the front door. She’s surprised she can put one foot in front of the other, considering how numb she feels. 

 

 

It’s snowing out, and she jogs over to Archie’s, letting herself in through the unlocked front door. 

“Hello?” she calls. 

Fred is in the living room, watching _Law & Order_ with Vegas asleep on his feet. “Hey, kiddo,” he says. “They’re upstairs. The door is supposed to be open.” He offers Betty a wry smile, the look on his face making it clear that he doesn’t think his house rules are being followed. “You let me know if it’s not.” 

She smiles back at him, says, “Thanks,” and jogs lightly up the stairs. 

Archie’s bedroom door _is_ open, just the smallest of cracks. Betty knocks loudly to muffle any sounds she might not want to hear and says, “It’s me.”

“B?” Veronica asks, and Archie calls, “One sec!” 

A moment later, Veronica opens the door, hair tousled and lipstick smudged. “Hey,” she says easily, and then her expression shifts to one of concern. “Oh, Betty, what is it?” 

“My parents just sat me down to tell me they’re removing Polly from their will. But it’s - it’s even worse than that. It’s like they’re kicking her right out of the family.” 

“That’s horrible,” Veronica says sympathetically. She wraps Betty up in a hug and then ushers her into Archie’s room, depositing her into the desk chair. 

“What’s happening?” Archie asks. He’s shirtless and his hair is, somehow, even messier than Veronica’s. 

“The Coopers are being awful again.” Veronica squeezes Betty’s shoulder before she sits down on the bed next to Archie. 

Archie grimaces. “Still about Polly?” 

“They’re - it’s like they’re cutting her out of our lives,” Betty says thickly. 

“Oh god, don’t cry,” Archie says, his eyes going wide with panic. 

Veronica elbows him. “Cry if you need to, B.”

“I just can’t believe them,” Betty says in a quiet voice. “Is this what they’d do to me if _I_ stopped acting exactly how they wanted?” 

“I don’t know, girl,” Veronica says gently. “I mean, I’d hope not, but - ”

“But they’re crazy,” Betty fills in, her throat clogged with tears. “My family’s crazy.” 

Archie starts rummaging around frantically for a box of tissues, and Veronica reaches over to take Betty’s hand. “Shh, don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what?” 

Betty looks up, and through her watery eyes she sees Jughead standing in the doorway. He looks from Veronica to Betty and then glances at Archie, who has managed to find the tissues. “Uh, hey,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I thought we were hanging out, Arch.” 

“Oh, crap,” Veronica says, looking at her delicate gold watch. “I lost track of time. I have to go.” She digs through her purse and pulls out a hairbrush. 

Fred’s voice drifts up to them: “You kids want pizza?”

“Extra-large pepperoni!” Archie and Jughead yell back in unison. 

Jughead looks back at Betty. “Are you okay?” he asks, his forehead creased in concern. 

She nods, pulling the cuff of her shirt down over her thumb and using it to wipe under each eye. 

“That doesn’t look okay,” Jughead says to Archie and Veronica, as if Betty isn’t there. 

“Her parents are cutting off contact with Polly,” Veronica says from by Archie’s mirror, where she’s now reapplying her lipstick. 

The creases in Jughead’s forehead shift as he lifts his eyebrows. “Shit.” 

“They’re certifiable,” Betty says. “They’re really and truly crazy.” 

Tentatively, Archie extends a crumpled tissue toward her. She accepts it and Jughead says, his words compassionate, “We’re all crazy.” 

“Very true,” Veronica agrees, tossing her things back in her purse. She gives Betty another hug. “You call me later if you want, okay? I’m sorry I have to bail.” She blows Archie a kiss and says, “See you, Jughead,” as she breezes out into the hallway. 

Betty blows her nose. “Not everyone is crazy like my parents. Like my family. Like _me_ , probably.” 

“Hey,” Jughead says, moving further into the room, seeming to sense that Archie’s way out of his depth. He puts a hand very lightly on Betty’s shoulder, his head tilted so that he can look down into her eyes. “You’re not your parents, Betty. That’s not how it works.” 

She gives him a small, trembling smile, her shoulder shrugging beneath his hand. 

“I mean it,” he says, and she nods, looking down into her lap as she tries to steady her breathing. 

“Dude, _hug her_ ,” Jughead stage-whispers to Archie, and a half-second later Archie’s pulling her up from the chair gently, his arms sliding around her in a hug. She returns it, pressing her face into his shoulder for a beat, and when she peeks up she finds that Jughead’s looking at her, his eyes the softest blue, like worn-in jeans. 

“Stay for pizza, Betts?” he offers, and this time, when she smiles, it feels less fragile. 

 

 

That night, she calls her sister three times, but Polly never answers. 

 

 

Jughead comes up to her while she’s at her locker, pulling out her books for the day. 

“If you want to cancel Saturday, I totally understand,” he tells her. 

“No,” she says. “I still want to.” 

He seems hesitant. “You sure, Betty?”

“Yes,” she says, and when she looks at his face, her eyes land on his lips for a beat before she pulls her gaze up to meet his. 

“Okay, but - you can back out any time. For any reason. You can always call it off.” 

Betty nods. “You too, Juggie.”

“So.” He nods, too. “Saturday.” 

She closes her locker, the clanging sound full of finality. “Saturday.”

He takes a couple steps backward, not turning around, and then stops. “Hey, Betts, uh… ” He smiles a bit, almost sheepishly. “You don’t have to wear, like… an outfit. You know? Just wear your normal clothes. Just look like you.”

“Oh.” She touches the crisp collar of her shirt instinctively. “Okay.”

“See you Saturday,” Jughead says. 

Betty presses her lips together and nods. She seems to have lost her voice.

 

 

Saturday dawns and Betty wakes with butterflies. 

She’s still desperately angry with her parents. She eats her mother’s homemade waffles sullenly, giving Alice’s questions about school and cheerleading and the paper one-word monotone answers. 

“Elizabeth,” her mother says, dropping a dirty spoon into the sink, “I have tolerated this attitude of yours for _several_ days. Should I contact the psychologist who’s on call for Dr. Martin’s cases?” 

Betty forces herself to sit up, rolling her shoulders down and uncurling her hands from their fists, where her nails have been pressing lightly into her palms, seeking the release of faint lines tinged with blood. She’s glad her therapist is on a three-week vacation - it means she hasn’t had to put effort, in the last few days, into considering what she will and will not admit to in the office with the pale blue walls and an ever-present box of tissues in reach. 

“No, Mother,” she says, complete with a beaming fake smile, and she and Alice spend several seconds glaring at each other.

 

 

Betty puts on workout gear, leggings and tight-fitting hoodie, and tells her mother she’s going to go run the track at school. Instead, she drives to Greendale and finds a parking spot close to the pharmacy. 

With somewhat sweaty hands, she selects a box of condoms. The research she’d done in an incognito window on her computer had also recommended lube, but after fifteen minutes of considering sizes (she has no idea), ribbing (her whole body seems to flush at the very thought), and brand choices (eventually, things did come _out_ of the Trojan horse, so she’s not sure about that branding), she doesn’t think she can spend any more time in the ‘family planning’ section. 

At home, she takes a long shower and uses a brand new razor to shave her legs. She puts her hair in a very loose braid, so that will be wavy when she takes it out, and then heads downstairs for a quick, late lunch before returning to her room and examining the contents of her closet critically. 

Despite what Jughead said, she can’t help but be concerned about how she looks. She wants to look _good_ \- attractive. 

The underwear is the eaisest part; she wears her nicest matching set, pink-and-white striped with lace edging from Victoria’s Secret. She settles on a pair of black jeans Veroncia once said made her butt look ‘cute,’ a light pink tank top, and a heather gray cardigan with a faint floral pattern on it. She undoes her braid and leaves her hair down around her shoulders. She figures necklaces and bracelets are unnecessary and chooses simple diamond studs for her ears. 

Betty eats dinner with a smile on her face, like a good girl, and helps her mother clean up in the kitchen afterward. 

“Can I go to Veronica’s for a bit?” she asks. 

Alice looks like she wants to say no, but Betty looks at her mother with wide, hopeful eyes and Alice’s expression softens, almost turning sad. “Curfew is eleven o’clock,” she finally says. 

 

 

She’s practically vibrating with nerves by the time she knocks on the trailer door. Jughead opens it looking completely like himself: t-shirt with an _S_ printed on it, jeans, beanie. 

She takes off her boots, her coat, her gloves. Jughead smiles at her socks, which have white kittens printed on them. 

Betty feels like her teeth would chatter if she loosened her jaw enough. “I brought condoms,” she says. 

He laughs, but it’s rough - he’s nervous, too. “I see you took my advice about segues to heart.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I have condoms. And, uh…” He lifts one hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Also lube. That’s a terrible word. Worse than _moist_. Though I guess they have similar meanings. But, anyway. Who am I to argue with the advice of the faceless masses on the internet?” 

Knowing that Jughead, too, did his due diligence, makes something uncoil inside of her. She steps up to him and, with the simplicity of a gesture that’s rooted only in want, presses a kiss to his mouth. 

He kisses her back, hands hovering by her hips but not quite landing. Betty’s own hands stay by her sides, but her fingers are loose, unclenched. 

When they pull apart, she meets his eyes. She feels like she’s riding a rollercoaster: valleys of shyness, hills of bravery. “Hi,” she whispers. 

“Hey there,” he says. 

Betty shrugs her cardigan off her shoulders. It falls to the linoleum floor. 

 

 

tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, literally an entire chapter of these kids trying to get it on. 
> 
> Fair warning: frank descriptions of sex ahead.

The pads of Jughead’s fingers skim over all the skin that shedding her cardigan has left bare, from mid-upper arm all the way down to her wrists. He takes her hands in his own and Betty glances down, watching their fingers weave together. 

“Want to come to my room?” he offers.

She nods. “Just, um - can I use your washroom first?”

“Of course. It’s just there,” he says, letting go of her hands and pointing. 

“Thanks.” She slips past him and goes into the trailer’s small bathroom, closing the door behind her. 

Inside, she notes that it’s clearly a space used only by two men: dark facial hair is sprinkled throughout the sink, and on the cracked mirror there are speckles of something white that could be shaving cream or toothpaste. The bottle of watermelon soap on the countertop looks totally out of place, and she wonders if Jughead bought it because she was coming over. 

Her stomach is in knots and she looks at herself in mirror, mouths, _You can do this._ That doesn’t seem to work, so she tries again: _You want to do this._

She thinks of her parents, thinks of how they’d react if they had any idea she was doing this, if they even had an inkling that she’d _thought_ about doing this, their anger and disappointment and disapproval - 

She stops that train of thought with a firm shake of her head. This isn’t about them; this is about her. 

And she’s ready.

 

 

Jughead waits for her in his room. The curtains over the small window are closed; the lamp on his bedside table is on. There are old movie posters on the walls and a precarious stack of books by his bed. 

There is a Fleetwood Mac album playing on his record player. _Won’t you lay me down in the tall grass._

Betty is hyper-aware of every part of her body, from her toenails to her eyelashes. After breathing deeply, all the way down into her stomach, she manages to walk toward him, meeting him where he’s standing by his bed - which, she notes, is neatly made. 

“Hi again,” he says. He lifts his hand and tucks her hair very gently behind one of her ears. 

Nervously, Betty jokes, “We keep running into each other.”

He sits down on the bed and tugs her down next to him. Their thighs are touching and she feels very warm. 

“If you don’t want to - ”

Betty leans over and interrupts him with a kiss. He smiles against her mouth, which makes her smile, relaxing, and then their teeth bump, which makes them both laugh. 

“I like your hair down like this,” he says quietly. 

“Thank you,” she says, and when they kiss again it feels easier, more natural, like this is just something they do now - they kiss. Betty lets her body fall against his slightly, their arms pressing together. Slowly, their kisses grow longer and deeper, and when Jughead’s tongue sweeps across the seam of her lips in a wordless question, she gives a silent, affirmative answer, granting his tongue entrance to her mouth. 

Betty likes making out with him. She likes the warmth of his mouth, likes the way his hand cups her neck, likes how simplistically pleasurable it is. She has the unexpected realization that she could kiss Jughead for a couple hours and not tire of it, but she has to be home for curfew, and she came for much more than this. 

The next time they pull apart for a quick breath, Betty says, with the mouth that’s always smiling, always saying _yes_ to favours, “Should we take our clothes off?”

Jughead’s eyes, when she looks at them, surprise her - they’ve darkened, taken on a slightly hazy quality. He’s looking at her mouth like he could devour it and it very nearly makes her shiver, but then he meets her gaze and says, “If that’s what you want.”

She presses her lips together; they feel a little swollen and she expects they’re red. “Can we turn the light off?” 

“Sure,” he says, shifting over on the bed to flick the switch. “Songbird” is playing now: _And I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right._

In the dark, she feels less vulnerable, somehow. She moves closer to Jughead, and once they’re kissing again, she grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it upward. He helps her, wrestling his arms out of the sleeves, and when they pull it over his head toward, his beanie falls off too. She reaches up and slides her fingers gently through his hair and finds that it’s thick and soft. Jughead slips an arm around her, leaning in to kiss her again, but Betty pulls back very slightly. 

“Do you use conditioner?” she can’t help but ask. 

He snorts out a laugh. “You are a million surprises wrapped up in one very pretty girl,” he says, and adds, “C’mere,” using the arm he’s got around her to pull her even closer so that he can nudge her down to lay on his mattress, her head a bit lower than his pillow. 

On her back on his bed, everything starts to feel very real, but despite her accelerating heart-rate, Betty’s lips curve into an easy smile. “Do you use a secret brand or something? You can’t tell me?” 

Jughead stretches out next to her and braces one hand on the other side of her body, so that he’s sort of hovering over her. In the back of her mind, she starts noticing him again - the muscles of his stomach, of his arms; the lines of his collarbones, which she thinks are beautiful.

“I’d have to kill you, Betts,” he says somberly. 

Betty examines his face as best as she can without much light. “You think I’m pretty?” she asks him quietly. 

“Of course,” he says. “You are. Objectively.” 

“Objectively?” she echoes. 

“Sorry,” he says on a soft laugh. “I guess that’s not the most… romantic of words. But - yeah, Betty, you’re beautiful. I…” She hears him swallow. “I’d definitely like to take your shirt off.” 

She can feel a flush creeping over her skin, on her cheeks, her neck, her chest. “So do it,” she breathes. 

 

 

He is so gentle with her. He peels off her shirt, struggles briefly with the clasp of her bra, and when she’s half-naked, he palms her breasts almost cautiously, like he’s waiting for her to tell him to stop. Betty keeps kissing him, because concentrating on that, on the way it feels good, helps to keep her from worrying too much about how her body might look to him. He seems to take that as a signal of her approval, and his hand moves with a little more confidence, a little more eagerness. He makes a low sound deep in his throat. 

She feels too timid to reach for the button on his jeans, so she unbuttons her own jeans, unzips, and lifts her hips so that she can pull them down. It’s not possible to get her skinny jeans off from this position, but when she starts to sit up Jughead moves instead, sliding her pants the rest of the way off her legs. 

“Want these off, too?” he asks, hands on her feet, on her kitten socks, and with a shy giggle she says, “Yes.” 

And then she’s in nothing but her underwear, and when she exhales her breath sounds shaky. Jughead takes off his own socks and his own jeans so that he’s about as naked as she is. His knee slips between her legs and, instinctively, she shifts her legs apart as he moves up her body. He keeps most of his weight off of her, holding himself up with his hands, and asks, “Is this okay?” 

His eyes are so intent on hers, shining in the dark. She nods and he lets her take on some of his weight, his hips slowly pressing into hers in a way that makes her gasp. He’s hard, and the pressure of him between her legs creates friction that feels so good it breaks through her nervousness momentarily. 

“Okay?” Jughead checks again. 

“Yeah,” she says softly, and she means it. He’s hard and he thinks she’s pretty. It makes butterfly wings flap frantically in her stomach to think that she could reverse those clauses and stick a _therefore_ before them. 

He presses against her just a little bit harder, their noses brushing before he kisses her. In a scratchy voice, he says, “You’re not very - ” 

It takes her a moment to understand that the word he doesn’t say is _wet_. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just - I’m thinking too much.” 

The feeling of his body, the weight of it pressing into hers, is good. The idea of it, of being pinned between a boy and a bed, is something she’d thought might make her feel panicky, but it doesn’t. The brush of his fingers over her jaw is good, too, and she tilts her chin up to kiss him, her hands settling over his shoulder blades. 

“Can I help you relax?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. 

Jughead kisses the place on her jaw where his fingers just were, and that feels even better. His mouth hits her pulse point and a sigh, soft and pleased, falls out of her mouth. “You tell me what you want, Betts,” he murmurs against her neck. 

“I want… to have sex.” 

He lifts his head. “But…” 

She draws in a breath. “This is why the faceless masses of the internet told you to buy lube, right?” 

“Betty, are you - ”

She touches her fingertips to his lips. “I’m sure.” 

 

 

Jughead gets up to get a condom, and sets a tube of lubricant on the bedside table. They take off their underwear - she thinks she hears him suck in a breath when she tugs her panties down her legs - and she sneaks a fast peek at him before studiously looking anywhere else. Condom on, Jughead puts lube into his hand and then gives the tube to her, and, blushing furiously, Betty squeezes the tube above her own hand and then slips two fingers into herself, grateful that Jughead gives her whatever privacy is possible in a situation like this, pointedly not watching her hand. 

She wiggles up the bed a bit so that she can put her head on his pillow. “Okay,” she says. Her voice comes out small and breathless. 

“Okay,” he repeats. His hand touches her knee, skimming up the underside of her thigh. He’s between her legs again and he asks, “Like this?” 

She nods. 

He uses a hand to position himself at her entrance and Betty sucks in air through clenched teeth. He’s touching her in a place no one’s ever touched her before, touching her with a part of him she never thought she’d _see_ , never mind feel pushing slowly into her. 

“Betts?” he asks. His voice comes through his teeth; his jaw is set just like hers. 

There’s a slightest sting of pain, but she’d been expecting that, so she nods at him. “Can you kiss me?” she asks in a whispered rush, and his lips crash onto hers in a kiss so hard, so full of desire, that it catches her off guard. 

She lets her back arch just a bit, trying to help him along. He presses further into her and her hands fly up, gripping his biceps tightly. The pain gets sharper and she tries to breathe through her nose, telling herself it will pass. She attempts to concentrate on the enjoyably distracting feeling of his mucles flexing beneath her fingers. She can’t help but dig her nails into his skin a little and his forehead drops against hers as he breathes, “ _Fuck_.” 

And then he’s pushing further into her and she gasps hard against his mouth, a whimper slipping out of her throat. 

Jughead freezes. “Are you okay?” he breathes, his voice rough in a way she’s never heard it before. 

“It’s - it’s okay,” she manages to grit out, but all of her muscles are tensing up in protest of the pain she’s feeling. 

“It’s not,” he says, his brows drawn close together. “I’m hurting you.” 

She shakes her head against the pillow. “You can keep going.” 

“Betty,” he murmurs. He knows she’s lying. 

“I - ” Tears spring to her eyes, and she doesn’t know if she’s crying because it hurts or crying because she’s embarrassed. She wants to do this, she’s ready to do this - why can’t she just do this? She moves her hands from his arms, pressing them over her face instead. 

After a beat, she feels him start to pull out of her and she grabs his arms again. “Jug, no, I just - ”

He shakes his head, resting some weight on his knees. “It’s not supposed to hurt so much that you cry.” 

“It’s okay,” Betty insists. “I’m saying it’s okay.” 

“It doesn’t feel right,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry, but a sob gets clogged in her throat anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, a tear leaking out of her eye and running down her temple toward the pillow. “I’m sorry, I asked you to and I - I just need to - to get it together and chill out or something. I just think too much and I got nervous and I - I’m sorry, I can’t believe you bought _lube_ , that was so nice of you, and here I am all - ”

Jughead puts a hand very lightly on her hip. “Betty.” 

She feels completely on display, naked in Jughead Jones’ bed, the sobs in her throat turning into hiccups as he looks down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She presses her knees together and crosses her arms over her breasts. 

“Here,” Jughead says. “Here.” He grabs his discarded shirt from the floor and her panties from the foot of the bed, handing them to her before he gets off the bed. 

Miserably, Betty sits up, tugs her underwear back on and pulls his shirt over her head, trying and failing to swallow down her hiccups. “Jughead, I’m so sorry.” 

He throws away the condom and puts his boxers back on before sitting down next to her. “Betty,” he says on a sigh. “Me, too.”

“What?” she murmurs, pinching her nose in an attempt to stop it from running. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, I’m the one who - ”

“Betty,” he says again. “I’m a virgin, too.” 

She blinks, and repeats, “What?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says. She can see, through his boxers, that he’s still hard, and that realization makes her bite the inside of her bottom lip. “But, to be fair,” he adds, “you didn’t ask.” 

Flustered, she says, “No, I guess… I didn’t.” She hadn’t thought to. 

He tilts his head, and she sees a flash of his teeth when he smiles. “Who, exactly, did you think I was having sex with?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “You’re - you’re all broody. All… Heathcliff. And you have nice cheekbones. Girls are into that.” 

“Thanks, I think,” Jughead says. “But you know I don’t have a wide social circle. The only girls I hang out with are you and Veronica.”

“You’re private about some things,” she says with a small shrug. 

“True enough,” he says, and then he reaches over and bumps a closed fist against her knee, a gesture so damn _friendly_ it’s surprising in the aftermath of everything they’ve just done - or at least, tried to do. “My point is, don’t stress about this. We can figure it out together.” 

She looks at his hand, watching his fingers uncurl from their loose fist. “Why did you say yes to me?” she asks. “I had no idea that it was… just as big of a deal for you.”

“You told me it was what you wanted,” he says. “And after I thought about it, I figured it was what I wanted, too.” 

Betty has about twenty different follow-up questions to ask, but he speaks again before she can get even one out: “What time do you have to be home?”

“Eleven.” 

He glances at his clock. “We still have some time, then.” There’s a beat of silence and then he clears his throat. “I don’t think, uh… penetration is going to happen tonight, but we can try something else, if you want.” 

“Like what?” she asks quietly. 

Jughead asks her a question in return. “You trust me, Betts?”

She feels herself begin to relax a bit, tension shifting into anticipation. “Yeah, Juggie. Of course I do.”

 

 

Betty resumes her previous position, head on Jughead’s pillow, but stays partially clothed. He stretches out next to her and kisses her oh-so-slowly, like they have all the time in the world. He kisses her until she’s cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer, wanting more. 

“If you want me to stop, you say so,” he murmurs against her lips, and a second later he’s touching her over her panties, just gentle stroking fingers, as slow and steady as the movement of his mouth against hers. 

There are a few seconds of embarrassment, but Betty’s body overpowers her brain in record time, and she shifts her legs apart a little, giving him more room to work. “What - what about you?” she says, her fingertips on his cheeks as she pulls back to look at his face. 

“Shh,” is all Jughead says. 

He keeps moving his fingers; desire coils low in her belly and she shifts her hips a bit, the feeling of want that’s starting to build taking precendece over her shyness. Jughead finds her clit with a gentle stroke of his thumb, and Betty gasps, bucking her hips, and now - _now_ she’s wet. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. His mouth settles against her neck, leaving sloppy kisses against her skin. 

His fingers keep stroking steadily over her damp underwear. Betty’s whole body feels like it’s pulsing, and when she opens her mouth no sound comes out. She tries again and manages to say, “ _Jughead_.” 

His hand goes to the waistband of her underwear, brushing over lace. “Yeah?” he asks, and Betty breathes, “ _Yeah_.” 

And then his hand slips beneath fabric and he’s touching her, really and truly touching _her_ , fingers sliding along slick folds and thumb making tentative circles over her clit that have Betty grabbing his arm with one hand, the other fisting tightly around a handful of his shirt that she’s got on. 

“I - ” A sound escapes her mouth, a cross between a whimper and a moan. 

“What?” Jughead asks softly. He sucks on her earlobe and she makes that same needy sound, gripping his arm desperately. 

“Slower,” she whispers, and he slows the rhythm he’s been building with his thumb immediately, and it’s just right, just what she needs, and she lifts her hips up a little, rocking them against his hand, and when she’s ready, abdominal muscles tight and thighs trembling, she says, “More,” and he understands right away, picking the pace back up, and “Oh my god, yes,” she whimpers, turning her face into the pillow. 

That movement grants Jughead greater access to her neck, and he grazes his teeth against her skin. “Can you come like this?” he asks roughly, and Betty just barely manages to nod. 

Betty’s not so repressed that she’s never masturbated, and she’s made herself feel good before - really good, even - but she’s never had an orgasm. In the depths of her mind, as her body quakes and every breath she takes turns into a high-pitched keening sound, she registers how odd it is to feel something happen to your body that you’ve only ever read about before, and then her mind completely blanks, and a sharp little cry slips out of her mouth as she comes against Jughead’s fingers. 

She closes her eyes, breathing hard as she comes down from the high he’d brought her to. He pulls his hand out of her panties, and she opens her eyes halfway when she feels him wipe his fingers against the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. His pupils are big in his irises, and there’s something dancing through his eyes, shock or maybe awe. One corner of his mouth is pulled up in the beginnings of a self-satisfied grin. 

The look on his face makes Betty’s flushed cheeks turn redder still, but she can’t deny him that satisfaction. Her muscles are trembling like she just ran a marathon and she can feel sweat beaded on her forehead. 

He lays down next to her, sandwiched between her body and the wall, and circles his wrist in the air to loosen the tension in it, flexing his fingers. 

She exhales very slowly. “Where did you learn to do that?” 

Grin fully formed now, lazy on his lips, he says, “Faceless masses of the internet, Betts.” 

“Remind me to write a thank-you note,” she says, closing her eyes again, and when he laughs, she does too, feeling both silly and satiated, her quiet, unstoppable giggles filling his small bedroom as he chuckles softly by her ear. 

 

 

tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all your comments and kudos! 
> 
> More sexual acts in this chapter (this disclaimer is likely true for all chapters going forward).

Betty’s nervous about seeing Jughead at school on Monday, worried that things between them will be fundamentally different in some way, but when she walks into AP English five minutes before the first bell, he glances up from his seat near the back and says, “Hey, Cooper,” throwing her a quick smile before he returns his attention to the book open in front of him, and it feels completely normal - except, maybe, for a little extra wattage in his smile, and that’s not exactly something that she minds. 

Even though her anxieties have been put to rest, she still feels a little flushed as she takes her usual seat next to Veronica, who’s scrolling through her phone and looks up with a warm smile of her own when Betty sits down. 

“Hey, girl,” she says. “How was your weekend?” 

“Good,” Betty says automatically - she’s the kind of person who answers questions with _good_ or _fine_ without fail, regardless of how she’s actually feeling, though today _good_ happens to be an honest answer. “Um, I spent Saturday night with you, actually. If my mom ever asks.” 

“Of course,” Veronica says without missing a beat. “We watched _Pitch Perfect_ and ate carrot sticks like the well-behaved women we are. Where were you actually?” 

Internally, Betty orders her cheeks not to go any pinker than they already are. “I just needed some time,” she says. “Me time.” 

Veronica’s eyes are full of sympathy. “I know it’s been rough for you lately, B. I get it. But you can always actually come over to my place if you want - we can eat Ben & Jerry’s and I’ll listen to you complain about Hal and Alice for hours if that’s what you need.” 

“Thanks, V,” Betty says softly, smiling. 

Kevin drops into the desk in front of hers, then, turning to look at them. “Ladies,” he greets.

“Hey, Kev,” Betty says, turning her smile to him. 

He seems to scrutinize her face. “Are you feeling okay, Betts?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning in confusion. “Why?” 

“You’re a little… ” He gestures to her face. “Red.” 

She touches her cheeks self-consciously. “No, I’m not.” 

Kevin turns to Veronica. “Don’t you think she looks different today?” 

Veronica glances at Betty briefly. “I think you’re making her blush, Kev. You look fine, Betty, stop looking so worried,” she adds before she focuses on Kevin once more. “How was your weekend?” 

Kevin launches into a story in a low voice, and Betty follows Veronica’s lead, leaning in to hear him a bit better, but she’s not really listening. The back of her neck feels prickly and hot, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of her own embarrassment or the result of a pair of blue eyes zeroed in on her from the back of the room. She doesn’t turn around to check. 

 

 

When she goes to the Blue & Gold office after cheerleading practice, Jughead’s still there, an old issue of the paper open in front of him, a notebook filled with his pointy scrawl at his side, six different windows open on his computer. He types something up quickly before he turns his attention to her and says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoes. “You’re still here. Are you getting somewhere with the Grundy thing?” 

“Maybe. Sort of. I don’t know, not really.” He pushes aside his notebook. “I keep hitting dead ends.” 

“Maybe it’s not the story we thought it was,” she says gently. 

He looks over at her and says, “Maybe,” but it’s evident in his expression that he doesn’t really agree. 

She smiles a little. “What’s your next move?” 

Jughead shakes his head slightly, eyes moving over his computer screen. “If you think it’s not worth it, I can drop it. It’s been a few days and - ”

“Jug,” she interrupts, hopping up to sit on her desk. She crosses her legs. “What’s your next move?” 

He smiles, and when he turns to look at her, his eyes land on her legs, her thighs, all the skin laid bare by her River Vixens practice shorts, before they focus on her face. “I thought you might do another interview with her. Maybe we could catch her in a lie.” 

Betty considers the idea. “I already did the teacher profile, though. What other reason would I have for interviewing her?” 

“She’s giving Trev Brown private lessons. We could do an article on him, his talent, his future, all that stuff. It would make sense to talk to his mentor.”

“She’s privately tutoring Trev?” Betty repeats. Aside from Archie, Trev is her favourite guy on the football team - he’s a year younger than them, kind and a little shy. He’d asked her to the back-to-school dance in September; she went with him and had a really nice time, appreciating that he never got handsy and that they could have a real conversation while taking a break from the dance floor and drinking spiked punch. When he’d dropped her off at home, it was obvious that he wanted to kiss her, but he hadn’t made a move and they didn’t go out again. Thinking of his tentative hands resting on her hips and then thinking of him alone with Miss Grundy, who might have had a sexually inappropriate relationship with a student at another school, is enough to make her nauseous. 

“Betts?” Jughead asks. He’s swivelled his chair toward her and is now looking at her with his brows drawn together in concern.

“Sorry,” she says. “I was just thinking. Your idea’s good. Let’s do it.” 

His eyes skim over her face, and then he gets up, taking a few steps toward her. He stops before they’re close enough to touch each other. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” she says, immediately understanding that he’s not asking about their attempted investigation but about her, about them, about what they did together. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” 

Jughead’s lips quirk upward. “Yeah.”

“Good. So… we’re okay.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and then says, “So, will I… see you this weekend? No pressure,” he adds quickly. 

She hadn’t exactly planned on it, not initially. She thought it would be a one-time arrangement, but her plan needs some editing; clearly, it’s going to be a slower process. Her period will start on Wednesday, and while she might be gaining some sexual confidence, she’s definitely not brave enough to try to sleep with Jughead again or let him touch her during the subsequent week. 

But - 

“Yeah,” she says. “Saturday again?”

\- he’d done something for her, putting his own pleasure aside. She wants to return the favour. 

He looks happy, which is not an adjective Betty mentally applies to Jughead very often. It’s been a while, maybe even years, since she saw happiness dance unguarded across his face. 

“Saturday works,” he says. 

“Great,” she says, sliding off the desk. “So, do you think I should try to set up a meeting with Grundy this week?” 

He doesn’t reply right away, and in the silence Betty realizes that putting her feet back on the floor has eliminated a lot of the space between them. If she put just a little more weight on the balls of her feet and leaned in, she could kiss him. 

Jughead’s hand moves to her upper arm, his fingers just barely touching her skin and trailing downward, over her elbow, her forearm, and then ghosting over the palm of her hand. For a split second, she feels as eager and trembly as she did in his bed. 

“Yeah,” he says, putting his hand back into his pocket. “The sooner the better.”

 

 

Late in the evening, Betty’s phone dings, startling her. She immediately clicks over to the interview with Toni Morrison she was going to pretend to be reading if her mother barged into her room, heart pounding, and then shakes her head at her own jumpiness, exhaling. 

She picks up her phone and sees that her sister has finally texted her back, though the message is brief and unsatisfactory: _don’t worry about me B! everything will be ok. love you always._

Betty sighs and replies _love you too Polly. pls call soon._

Her sister knows her better than this - Betty’s a worrier and she always has been. She wants to know exactly what Polly’s doing, exactly just how okay she is, exactly how supported she is in the face of their parents’ ridiculous behaviour, exactly how Betty might be able to help, but she knows from experience that Polly will take a couple days to reply to this text, and probably won’t call. 

She sets down her phone and clicks back on to the incognito window on her laptop, which is full of Google results for the search _how to give a good blowjob._

There is, unsurprisingly, a wealth of sex-related information on the internet, but she still feels like she’s floundering. Betty’s read novels that were banned for their sexual content, and now she’s read about twelve different web pages detailing the mechanics of blowjobs, but without real-world experience, she feels bogged down by uncertainty. Some things make perfect sense - use your tongue, use your hands, follow these tricks to keep from gagging - while other seem so personal that she can’t imagine they’re universal rules. When she reads advice about getting her teeth involved, she can only imagine it ending badly. 

She wishes she could ask Veronica or Kevin for advice. Apart from some preliminary teasing, she knows they’d genuinely try to help, but she can’t ask for their input without signing up for an interrogation about exactly whose penis she’s planning on putting in her mouth. 

The next link she clicks on informs her that she should get Jughead to eat pineapple first, and she has a vision of herself showing up at the trailer with a whole pineapple in her hands, and she presses her fingers to her mouth to keep from giggling. Knowing Jughead, he’d probably actually eat it. 

Betty closes the window full of search results, shuts her laptop, and decides to get ready for bed.

 

 

She selects her outfit for her next meeting with Jughead with care, which seems a little silly considering that he’s now seen her completely naked, but still - he’d called her pretty, and she wants to maintain that impression. 

She chooses a knitted white sweater, which she puts on over a simple scoop-neck t-shirt, and the same hunter green skirt she wore when she first proposed this arrangement to him, this time over a pair of thick gray tights. She figures she’ll need to tie her hair back eventually, so she puts it up in her habitual ponytail to save herself from having to ruin a moment later.

“I’m going to Veronica’s, okay?” she tells her mother, who is in the kitchen scrubbing a pan with more intensity than required. 

Alice looks her over. “What are you two going to do?” 

“Bake,” Betty lies, all innocence. 

“Don’t get carried away with taste-testing.” 

“I won’t, Mom.” 

“Metabolism is fickle, you know.” 

She holds in a sigh. “I know.” 

Alice nods and resumes her vigorous scrubbing. “Remember your curfew, honey.” 

“I will.” Betty backs out of the room, heading for the garage. She thinks her mother might be nearly as sad as she is about Polly, but rather than being honest about her emotions, she’s been hyper-critical of Betty lately, scrutinizing everything that goes into Betty’s mouth and counting the pills in the bottles that line Betty’s medicine cabinet. Betty’s also ninety-nine percent sure that Alice is reading her diary. 

As she drives toward the South side, she imagines writing an honest entry. _Dear Diary, Today I’m going to give a boy a blowjob. Mom, I know you’re reading this, so don’t worry - there are only a few calories in semen._

She rolls a window down and lets the cool air stream into the car. 

 

 

When Jughead opens the door, Betty feels a momentary rush of dizzying nervousness, but it’s different than last time - it’s a nervousness informed by possibility, not apprehension. 

“Hi,” she says as she steps inside. She unlaces her boots and takes them off before she removes her coat, which he takes for her and drapes over the back of a kitchen chair. 

“Cold out there?” he asks. 

“It’s not too bad,” she says with a small shrug. “Oh, Grundy finally got back to me. She says we can meet on Tuesday before school.” 

“Good,” Jughead says. “I can help you come up with questions, if you want.” 

“Definitely. It’s your investigation.” 

“Nah, not really. I’d be nowhere without my trusty editor.” 

Betty smiles. “The land of overused semi-colons, that’s where you’d be.” 

“You are never going to let that go,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “Would you like to get my headstone engraved now? _Jughead Jones the third, loved semi-colons too much._ ” 

She nods. “With a semi-colon after your name. For emphasis.” 

“You’re a punctuation perfectionist, Betty Cooper.” 

“Want to put that on _my_ headstone?” she teases. 

“I’ll consider it.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and the comfort she feels, arguing about her editorial standards with him, gives her confidence. She tiptoes up to press a kiss to his mouth. 

His arms go around her, pulling her close, and she all but falls into him. She slips her own arms around his neck, and as they kiss she lifts a hand and pulls off his beanie. 

“Drop it,” he murmurs again her mouth, so she does, letting it fall to the floor. He begins to move slowly, walking her backwards down the trailer’s thin hallway. His hand slips under her sweater and then under her shirt, pressing against her back. His skin is warm. 

Soon enough the backs of her legs hit his bed, and he nudges her back gently, settling his body over hers as she stretches out atop his bedspread. Without really meaning to, her body acting of its own volition, she wraps her legs around him, ankles linking at his back, and Jughead groans, groping one of her thighs as her skirt rides up. 

He tugs her sweater upward and, after a quick moment of eye contact to check that it’s okay, peels it over her head. The shirt she’s wearing underneath is rucked up from the action, leaving her midriff bare, and he pulls the neck of the shirt down too, kissing over the tops of her breasts. He pulls at her shirt a bit more insistently and then tugs at the cup of her bra, baring her breast and taking her nipple into his mouth. A little cry slips out of Betty’s throat, her hips bucking, and when Jughead looks at her, mouth still closed around her nipple and a smirk in his eyes, she whimpers, abruptly so aroused that she can hardly think straight. 

“That good, Betts?” he murmurs against her collarbone, thumb now flicking at her nipple, and Betty uses all the leverage she can get from pressing a hand against his chest and using the legs she’s got wrapped around him to flip them over so that she’s straddling his hips. 

Jughead blinks up at her, looking somewhat stunned, his blue eyes dark. She grinds her hips down against his just once, and then shifts back slightly to undo his belt buckle. “Tonight’s about you,” she says, soft and firm. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jughead says as she pulls his shirt up over his head. She unbuttons and unzips his jeans and they shift around so that he can get them off. 

“It is,” Betty says, settling back over him. Through his boxers, her tights, and the thin layer of her underwear, she can feel how hard he is already. 

His eyebrows lift. “Look who’s bossy.” 

She smiles a little, rocking her hips against his experimentally and sighing at the pleasurable friction it provides her. Jughead grabs her hips, his fingers digging in hard. 

She breathes in. “I want to - to blow you,” she says, and instantly she can feel heat in the apples of her cheeks. 

“God,” Jughead murmurs, gripping her hips even more tightly. “Betty - you don’t have to.” 

“I know I don’t have to.” She licks her lips. “I want to.” 

One of his hands lifts to the back of her neck and he pulls her down against him roughly, their mouths meeting in a kiss. His hands slide over her back and beneath the hem of her shirt, which is pushed up to right beneath her bra. 

“Can you take this off?” he breathes, and without saying anything Betty straightens up, pulling the shirt over her head and tossing it aside. 

His hands lift immediately, cupping her breasts over her navy blue bra. “This is nice,” he murmurs. “You’re - ” His hands squeeze gently. “Betty, you’re beautiful.” 

She bites her lip, the compliment making her shy. She shifts on his lap and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. “Can I - ?” She looks into his face and he nods. 

She takes off his underwear and changes her position, straddling one of his thighs instead. She studies him only for a moment, her body buzzing with nerves, and then looks into his face. His eyelids are heavy as he watches her. 

“Tell me if there’s something you want me to do,” she says quietly. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” he says, somewhat hoarsely. 

Betty nods once, takes a deep breath, and dips her head, taking him in her mouth. Jughead makes a rough sound, almost a growl. She puts one hand at the base of his dick and presses the other into the mattress for balance, her thumb enclosed in her fist - she read online that doing so would reduce her gag reflex. 

And then she closes her lips around him and moves her mouth up and down. She goes a little too far down, gagging a bit, but she powers through the feeling and carries on. 

“Can you - ” Jughead is breathing heavily. “Can you suck a little harder?” 

Always good at taking constructive criticism, Betty does, closing her lips more tightly around him, trying to make sure her tongue is involved in all the ways she’d read about. It takes her a moment to achieve some kind of rhythm and then Jughead says, “Yeah, Betts,” and when she moves upward and flicks her tongue against his head she tastes him, and the combination of his precum and her saliva makes him slick enough that she can use her hand in conjunction with her mouth, creating a faster rhythm. 

Jughead fingers wind into her ponytail, pulling slightly, but she doesn’t mind. “Fuck, Betty,” he murmurs. 

Betty draws her mouth all the way upward, her lips leaving him altogether for a half second before she sinks back down in one smooth motion, taking him as deeply into her mouth as she can, and he groans, “Jesus Christ.” 

She keeps going until both her arm and her jaw are starting to ache. He gives her ponytail a gentle tug, and there’s an audible wet sound as she pulls her mouth off of him, looking up at his face. 

“C’mere,” he breathes, fingers on her jaw. She moves from where she’s straddling his leg to stretch her body out next to his, and he kisses her hard, pulling the elastic from her hair so that it falls over her shoulders and into her face.

They kiss while Jughead jerks himself off, her sticky hand resting gently against his bare chest. When he breaks the kiss with a soft groan, his eyes shut, Betty puts her mouth on his neck, trailing it upward. She sucks on his earlobe and he says, softly, “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” and then he’s coming as she skims her lips over his jawline. 

When he opens his eyes, he touches her chin, lifting it slightly so that he can kiss her. She’s not sure why he stopped her and feels a bit like she failed, and she wants to say _sorry I didn’t make you come_ , but he speaks before she can, his mouth just a breath from hers. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, releasing a sigh full of contentment and satisfaction. He cups her cheek in his hand for a beat and then grabs his discarded boxers, using them to clean himself up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and tosses the boxers in his hamper on his way to the bathroom. 

While he’s gone, she pulls her shirt back on, tugs her skirt back down, and tries to smooth out her hair. When he comes back into the room, she looks at him through her lashes with a mixture of curiosity and desire. She just had him in her mouth, but somehow she still feels shy about ogling him from across the room. 

Jughead puts on a fresh pair of boxers and comes to sit down next to her. He squeezes her knee gently. “That was incredible; thank you,” he says, and leans over to kiss her softly. 

She shrugs, looking down. “You were right,” she says lightly. “You can learn a lot from the internet.”

“I don’t think that was the internet,” he says. “I think that was just Betty Cooper’s tongue.” 

She feels a flush on her chest that starts to creep up her neck, but before she can say anything, he’s kissing her again, a kiss that lingers this time, and she shifts a bit closer as he coaxes her mouth open against his. 

“Can I do something for you?” he asks when they pull apart for air, his hand sliding up her thigh, under her skirt.

Betty shakes her head. “No,” she says. 

He takes that answer and doesn’t question it, nodding once. “Okay.” He looks at the clock. “You’ve still got time before you have to go home, right? Do you want to watch a movie or something?” 

She doesn’t want to go home, where she’ll have to listen to her parents arguing or to the tense silence of a pause in one of their fights. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

Jughead smiles. “I’m on a bit of a Kubrick kick lately.”

Betty shrugs; that’s fine with her. “You can pick the movie.” 

“You sure?”

She nods and says, “I’m easy,” and then presses her lips together, realizing the double entendre. 

He grins at her, having heard it too, and runs a hand through his mussed-up hair. “Do you want to order a pizza?”

After picking at her food during an uncomfortable family dinner that night, staring morosely at Polly's empty chair, she could definitely eat, so she says, “Sure.” 

He picks up his phone and begins to dial. “You still like extra cheese?” 

Betty smiles, pleasantly surprised that he remembers - they haven’t ordered a pizza to share since middle school, probably, while hanging out with Archie. “Yes.” 

“Hey, Jughead Jones,” he says into his phone when the call connects. He orders a large pizza and starts listing off toppings, adding, “And when I say extra cheese, I mean extra. Overwhelm me.” 

She tries to keep her smile from growing wider but loses the battle. There’s a strange little twinge in her stomach that she’s never felt before - she must be really hungry. 

 

  
tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

Since she’s interviewing Miss Grundy on Tuesday, Betty stays late after school on Monday to work on her list of questions with Jughead. He’s still acting normally around her at Riverdale High, and she’s trying to act normally too, though she struggles a bit when they’re alone together in the newspaper office without the buffer of their friends. Jughead gave her her first orgasm and she managed to maintain her composure, but for some reason, knowing what he tastes like, knowing she's had him in her mouth, is the thing that makes her feel all dizzy and breathless around him. 

“You alright?” he asks her after she asks him to repeat himself for the third time, her thoughts having wandered off yet again. 

“Yeah, totally,” she says, batting her eyelashes a little, and she thinks _what the hell am I doing?_

She needs to get it together. She needs to stop noticing his fingers tapping against his notebook, to stop glancing down at his crotch like she’s got x-ray vision and can see through his jeans, to stop eyeing the faint stubble on his cheeks. She thought, before now, that this was a boy thing, getting so distracted by someone’s body, but she’s proving herself wrong. In the forty-some hours since Saturday night, she’s wanted to do what she did then again. It doesn’t seem fair - he made _her_ come, and now she wants a turn to do the same for him. 

“You seem…” Jughead trails off, apparently unable to decide how she seems. 

She crosses her legs. “I - I was just thinking… what if this does absolutely nothing? Is she really going to be stupid enough to tell me something I can use to get her fired?” 

“Probably not,” Jughead admits. “But we should try, right? If Geraldine Grundy and Jennifer Gibson are the same person, she can’t keep teaching here. She shouldn't be teaching anywhere.” 

“Yeah,” Betty agrees, studying the list of questions in front of her. “If someone was going to change their name, though, would they really go with _Geraldine Grundy_? That seems like the kind of name you’d get stuck with at birth.” 

“That’s exactly what you want to do when you change your name. Make people think you’d never actually choose it.” He smiles at her and taps a finger against his temple as if to say _see, I’m smart._

She smiles back. “Was that your grand plan as a toddler? You came up with ‘Jughead’ all on your own?”

“Exactly.” 

She shakes her head fondly and glances at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to go,” she sighs. “My mom will freak if I’m not home for dinner.” 

He watches her pack up her textbooks. “Are things… okay? At home?” 

Betty shrugs. “My parents are still crazy.” 

“But… you, you’re doing okay?” 

She smiles softly, touched by his concern. “Yeah, Juggie. I’m handling it.” She slips her arms into her coat.

“You’re stronger than they are, you know,” he says abruptly, his voice soft, sincere. “You’re a lot stronger than you let people know, Betty Cooper.” 

She pauses in the midst of doing up one of her coat buttons and meets his eyes. “Thanks, Jughead,” she says. There’s a little lump in her throat, but it’s different than the ones that she’s been experiencing at home so often lately. She’s not sad, she’s moved. 

He shrugs, breaking eye contact. “Any time.”

 

 

Betty arrives at her interview with Miss Grundy wearing her sweetest smile and a floral shirt. For the most part, she loathes the fact that when people look at her, their first thought is almost always _oh, what a nice girl_ , but in this particular situation, it has its advantages. She’s had limited contact with the music teacher, but her reputation precedes her, and the daisies printed on her shirt will only confirm that the idea of Betty Cooper aligns with the person: kind and innocent, without a single ulterior motive. 

“Do you mind if I record this?” she asks, pressing the button on her phone without waiting for an answer. “It’s just so much easier than trying to write quickly.” 

Miss Grundy smiles at Betty the way teachers always do - they recognize a straight-A student when they see one. “That’s fine.”

“Great!” Betty chirps, and then runs through her preliminary questions. 

Grundy talks casually about Trev, about his progress and his potential, his musical gifts. Betty keeps a smile on her lips and her eyes laser-focused on Grundy’s face, trying to spot even the slightest twitch that might indicate something untoward is going on. 

“Have you ever done this before?” she asks, the picture of genuine curiosity. “Tutored a student one-on-one? I remember you said you worked at… Centreville, right? Before you came here?” 

Miss Grundy nods. “Yes, I mentored a student there as well.” 

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Betty gushes, flipping to a fresh page of her notebook. “What was his name? Or hers? I’d love to look them up and see how things are going with their music!” 

And there it is, on Grundy’s face: discomfort, revealed through a few quick, extra blinks. “Um - I’m not sure.” 

“You’re not sure?” 

“I have a lot of students, Betty, and I’m afraid I’m not the best with names. It was a couple years ago.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad. Were they a male or female student?” 

Grundy clears her throat. “Male. We should wrap this up - I need to prepare for my first class.” 

“Of course,” Betty says, nodding. “Just one more question - when did you teach there? Maybe I can find them by year.” 

“I don’t really think that’s necessary. Isn’t your article about Trev?” 

When Grundy stands, Betty does, too. “Yes, but I really want to create a _full_ picture. Please, Miss Grundy - I’m trying to improve my portfolio.” 

Grundy studies her for a moment and then looks away. “It was ’12-13.”

“Thank you so much,” Betty says, “Really.” 

 

 

“Hi,” Betty greets her friends, setting her lunch down on their usual cafeteria table. She’s still buzzing a bit with accomplished, hopeful energy, and she zeroes in on Jughead. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He pops a fry into his mouth as he stands. “Sure.” 

“Secrets?” Veronica demands, looking back and forth between them. 

Betty smiles at her. “Just newspaper stuff, we’ll be back in a sec.” 

She leads the way out of the cafeteria and around the corner, into an empty hallway lined with lockers. “I think I got something,” she says. 

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, maybe. I asked her about Centreville, if she ever tutored students one-on-one there. She said yes, and then when I pretended I just wanted to clarify what years she taught there, so I could look her student up, she got kind of flustered and tried to avoid the question. She gave me an earlier timeframe than the one in that article you found, but she was probably lying, right?” Suddenly, Betty doubts herself. “Well, I mean, maybe she was. I’m not sure. It seemed like it, though? And I recorded it.” 

“That’s awesome,” Jughead says, with more enthusiasm than he usually possesses. 

“Is it? I’m really not sure if - ”

“Betty.” He puts his hands on her upper arms and tilts his chin down slightly to look into her eyes. “It’s good. It’s not irrefutable evidence or anything, but it’s a step. It’s exactly what we were looking for. We can cross-check records now. Call the school in Centreville.” He smiles at her. “You did great, Cooper.” 

She grins and exhales, relieved, and then, on impulse, leans in to kiss him. 

She means for it to be quick, celebratory, but it turns the embers that have been lingering inside her since Saturday into a fire. She’s kissing him hard and he moves backward, both of them stumbling through a couple steps before his back presses against the lockers and Betty presses against him. 

Jughead’s got a hand against her back, holding her as close to him as possible, and his other hand is on her cheek, angling her jaw gently as his tongue explores her mouth. She melts into his kiss, into his touch, and for a moment she totally forgets about Grundy. 

When they pull apart, Betty feels dazed. Jughead adjusts his beanie and asks her, softly, “What was that?” 

Her answer is only tangentially related. “I want to try again,” she tells him. “I’m ready.” 

“There’s no rush, Betts,” he says, with the slightest rasp in his voice. 

“I’m ready,” she says again, leaning back into him a bit. “This Saturday.” 

He kisses her the same way she kissed him, like magnets are drawing their mouths together. “Okay,” he says. His eyes are twinkling with something that makes her stomach clench. “This Saturday.”

 

 

Betty knows she can’t tell her mother she’s hanging out with Veronica for a third weekend in a row. Alice is perpetually suspicious of Veronica, convinced that she’s a bad influence, so the best-case scenario is that Betty will receive the third degree about her plans, and the worst case scenario is that Alice will call Veronica’s mother to confirm that Betty’s actually at their place. 

So she asks Kevin to ‘go to a movie’ on Saturday, and he nods, accustomed to being Betty’s cover when she’s trying to get some freedom from her mother’s watchful eye. He was, in fact, her _only_ cover until Veronica moved to town, and he’s so familiar with the routine that he nods and says what he’s said in these scenarios ever since she was thirteen: “Sure, Betty,” followed by a teasing singsong: “Be sa-afe!”

She’s prepared to roll her eyes at him, like she has since she was fourteen (at thirteen she’d scrunch up her nose and go bright pink and whine _Kev, stop it_ ), but Kevin grabs her arm so suddenly and so tightly that it almost hurts. 

“Holy shit,” he says, realization dawning on his face. “You’re meeting mystery man. You actually _do_ need to be safe.” 

Betty presses her lips together, willing herself not to brush. She doesn’t want to say no. She doesn’t want to lie to Kevin, especially since she’s aware that the fact that she hasn’t told him about Jughead yet stings; Kevin does, after all, tell her about every guy he’s interested in, even his fleeting crushes on straight boys. 

“ _Ow_ ,” she says pointedly, looking at his hand on her arm. He releases his grip, scrunching his face up briefly to indicate that he’s sorry, and Betty blows out a breath and admits, “Yes. I’m meeting someone. But Kevin - _please_ don’t tell anyone.” 

He looks excited enough to jump up and down. “I won’t if you tell me who it is,” he bargains. 

“I can’t.”

“Betty.” He sighs, deflating. “Why not?” 

“I just… can’t, Kev. I’m sorry.” 

He considers her for a moment and then says, “I have to ask you something.”

“Okay,” she says cautiously. 

“I’m not trying to imply anything by it, I just have to ask.” 

Betty frowns slightly, tilting her head. “Okay… ”

“You’re not, like… hooking up with Archie, are you?”

Her frown deepens immediately. “ _What?_ Kevin, _no_. Of course not!”

“Okay,” he says quickly, holding his hands up. “Okay. I’m sorry. Like I said, I wasn’t trying to imply anything.” 

“You _know_ that I’m over Archie, _years_ over Archie, and you know I’d never do that to Veronica!” 

“Yes. I do. I do know. But I don’t know who you _are_ hooking up with, so I keep wondering, and sometimes I come up with farfetched scenarios.” 

“Well, _stop_ ,” she huffs. “Can’t you just - just be happy that I’m happy?” 

Kevin’s eyes go all soft, which is unfair, because it’s hard to stay angry with him when he’s looking at her like that. “You’re happy?” 

She blows out a breath and crosses her arms - her anger’s fading, but it’s not gone yet. “Yes.” 

“Is he… is mystery man your boyfriend?” 

“No. But I’m… I don’t know. I’m having a good time. So, yes, I’m happy.” 

His expression shifts again, and now he looks impressed. “Well, well. Look at little Betty Cooper go.” 

She lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not exactly little anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” he agrees. He wraps an arm around her and squeezes, and she can feel, in that half-hug, an apology that makes the rest of her annoyance melt away. “My baby’s all grown up. Do you need condoms?” 

“God, no!” Betty says, like she’s thirteen all over again. 

 

 

At the trailer, she only takes the time to remove her boots, not even bothering to unbutton her coat or with a single word of small talk before she’s kissing Jughead. She lets him take her coat off while she struggles to get his belt undone. She slides his belt through the loops of his jeans and drops it on the floor before she pulls back just enough to let him push her coat off her shoulders and down her arms. 

“Hey,” Jughead says lowly, nudging another kiss against her mouth. His nose brushes against hers and a little thrill runs through her whole body. “You’re… ”

“I’m what?” she says, winding her arms around his neck. She’s worried, momentarily, that he’ll say _aggressive_ or some other word with negative connotations, but the worry fades almost as soon as it forms. 

“You’re…” He slips his hands under her shirt and holds her hips tightly. “This makes me feel like a Neanderthal but I really can’t think of a better word, and you’re… you’re so hot.” 

Betty Cooper, wearer of pastel sweaters with high necklines, player of Virgin Mary for two Christmas pageants in a row when she was a child, peer mentor and tour-giver, has never once been called _hot_. She gets ‘cute’ a lot and ‘pretty’ fairly often, but _hot_ is entirely new. 

She kisses him again, her mouth hot and open against his, and when they pull apart she whispers, “I want to have sex with you.” 

He squeezes his eyes closed for just a second, like what she’s said is to much for him to hear, and then picks her up, his forearms folded across the backs of her upper thighs, making her giggle in surprise. He carries her to his room and sets her down on his bed and she makes quick work of unbuttoning her blouse and taking off her jeans as Jughead rids himself of his own clothes. 

He unhooks her bra with the confidence that a couple rounds of practice supply, and they tug off each other’s underwear. When he leans over, fitting himself between her legs, he’s already hard, and Betty lets out a little gasp at the contact. 

Jughead puts his lips on her jaw and trails them downward, over her neck and her breasts and her ribs, pausing occasionally to nip at her skin with his teeth. She watches him, her eyes fluttering closed now and then. He keeps moving down, over her stomach and her hips, and when she realizes that he intends to go lower she catches his chin in her hand, pulling him up a bit and shaking her head. 

“I want to,” he says, mouthing at her hipbone. She sighs, and she almost wants it, too, but ultimately she’s still too shy. 

“Use your hand,” she murmurs, “like last time.”

He shifts back up the bed and stretches out, half next to her, half on top of her, one leg hooked over one of hers and his chest pressed lightly to hers. He slides his fingers against her and she mewls at the same time he groans. 

They kiss softly as he rubs slow circles over her clit, building tension. She sighs, “Juggie,” and she can feel his smile against her mouth. 

He nuzzles the side of her face and kisses her ear, his breathing heavy. “How are you so wet?” he asks quietly. 

“I - ” Her breath catches. “I think it - it’s all you - I - _oh_ ,” she whimpers as he slides a finger inside of her, one hand lifting to grip his shoulder tightly. 

Lips brushing her cheek, he asks, “Okay?” 

Betty can only gasp, “Please.” 

“What are you asking for, Betts?” he murmurs against her ear. 

Her hips shift as she rides his hand and she manages, after a moment, to say, “More. Jug, I - ” 

She’s so turned on, by his hand and the roughness of his voice and the feeling of him pressed hard against her hip, that she wants to say _I’m asking for you, I want you inside me_ but she never figures out if she’s courageous enough to say those words, because at that very moment they hear the sound of the trailer door being flung open. 

Jughead reacts faster than she does, given that he’s not more than halfway to an orgasm, sitting up and saying, “Shit. _Shit._ ” He gets up, grabs his discarded boxers, pulls them on, and starts to gather her jeans, blouse, bra, and panties. “Betts, you have to get dressed.” 

She sits up, feeling both disappointed and dazed. “What…?”

Jughead takes her face in his hands, looking right into her eyes. “Get dressed. Hurry.” 

There’s a crashing sound from the kitchen, and that’s enough to bring Betty back to reality. She gets off the bed, stepping into her underwear and jeans quickly as Jughead tugs on his own jeans, muttering, “Fuck, fuck,” as he grabs a t-shirt on the way out of his room. 

She puts on her bra and her blouse - she misbuttons it on her first try and hurriedly undoes all the buttons with shaky fingers, beginning again. Jughead doesn’t have a mirror in his room, so she pulls the elastic out from what’s left of her bun and redoes it to the best of her ability without being able to see herself. 

The trailer is small, and she can hear snippets of a slurred voice from the kitchen: “Jughead! … no, I’m good, I’m _good_ , son… a girl? Is that a girl’s jacket? You got a girl?” In between the words are Jughead’s replies, softer and muffled. 

She walks out of the room and down the hallway tentatively. In the living room, Jughead appears to be trying to convince his father to lay down on the sofa and take off his shoes. Betty’s arrival thwarts those efforts, though; when Jughead's father sees her, he sits up straight, a lazy grin forming on his face. 

“There _is_ a girl!” he says, and then glances at his son. “She’s pretty, Jughead.” 

“Hi, Mr. Jones,” she says, the politeness that’s been drilled into her over the years kicking in automatically. She looks at Jughead, but he won’t meet her eyes. 

“What’s your name, honey?” his father asks. 

“Betty,” she says, and swallows nervously. “Cooper.” 

“Well, Betty Cooper, I should thank you for taking an interest in my son. He’s a good kid. Aren’t you, Jug? You’re a good kid.” 

Jughead doesn’t reply, heading into the kitchen instead, and Betty tries to smile. She’s never been around an adult as inebriated as Jughead’s dad clearly is, and there’s something almost sinister in his smile, something almost frightening about his energy and the sloppy movement of his limbs. 

“A good kid,” Jughead’s dad mumbles, squinting at the floor, and Betty is saved from wondering whether or not she’s supposed to reply by Jughead’s return. 

He’s holding her coat, and he walks toward her, pressing it into her hands. “You should go,” he says, steering her toward the door. He keeps his body between hers and his father as he guides her to the threadbare mat her boots are sitting on. 

She pulls on her coat and does up the laces on her boots as quickly as she can. When she straightens again and looks at Jughead, she finds that his eyes are dark and shuttered, unreadable. She glances quickly at his father and asks, “Are you sure you want me to go?”

“Yes,” he says, immediate and firm. Then he softens a bit, touching her hand with his own briefly. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll see you at school, okay?” 

“What’re you sorry about, Jug?” his father demands from the sofa. “Am I an embarrassment?” 

Jughead blows out a breath and opens the for her. 

Betty hesitates and says, “Text me. Later. Okay?” 

Something shifts in his expression, but she still can’t read his eyes. He offers a brusque nod, and she steps outside. As she walks toward her car, she can still hear the rise and fall of a drunken voice inside the trailer. 

 

 

She can’t go home since she’s still supposed to be at the movies with Kevin in Greendale, so she drives to Pop’s instead. Inside, she spots Archie and Veronica in a booth. They wave her over. 

“Hey, B,” Veronica says, shifting over so that Betty can sit next to her. 

“I don’t want to interrupt your date,” she says, but they’re both waving away her words before she’s even finished her sentence, so she sits. 

“Your regular?” Pop asks as he walks by, and she smiles up at him and says, “Yes, please.” 

“How’s your weekend, Betts?” Archie asks. 

“It’s good,” she says easily. She takes her phone out and sets it on the tabletop. “What’ve you guys been up to? Minus the indecent acts, please.” 

They laugh, eyeing each other for a moment in that totally obvious way they have, and then Veronica starts talking about how they went to the mall, and how Archie was very patient while she tried on a million things. 

“He held my bags like a gentleman,” she says on a happy sigh. 

Archie winks at Betty and stage-whispers, “She bought me a soft pretzel.”

Betty laughs. “Are you her boyfriend or her dog, Arch?” 

He shrugs and grins. “She got me _dipping sauce_ , Betty.” 

Veronica starts teasing Archie about how he devoured the pretzel, but Betty only hears the first couple sentences Veronica says because her phone lights up. She grabs it as surreptitiously as she can and holds it in her lap, typing in her passcode to see a text from Jughead. 

_really sorry about my dad and about rushing you out._

_np_ , she writes back. _are you ok?_

_yeah fine. he’s sleeping,_ Jughead responds, followed quickly by, _he’s never come home early before._

_it’s ok jug. really._

A minute goes by, and she thinks that might be the end of their conversation, but then he says, _i wanted tonight to go a lot differently._

Betty bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling. _me too_. 

_next saturday?_

She only has time to type _yes_ before Veronica’s waving a hand in her face. 

“Earth to Betty. Where’d we lose you?” She notices Betty’s phone then and leans over, trying to see the screen. “Who are you texting?” 

Betty tilts the phone so Veronica can’t see it, pressing send quickly before she pockets it again. “My sister. Sorry.” 

At that, Archie and Veronica’s faces fill with so much sympathy that Betty feels bad about her lie. She smiles at them. 

“So, Archie was eating his pretzel like a _what_ , exactly?” she asks. 

Archie laughs, and begins to protest before Veronica can even explain. Betty makes sure to smile and laugh in all the right places, but her mind feels like it’s miles away, like she left it at Sunnyside. 

 

tbc.


	7. Chapter 7

When Jughead finally walks into the Blue & Gold office on Monday, Betty scrambles to her feet, and then instantly feels stupid for doing so. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this, like he just got back from war or something - she saw him two days ago. 

Jughead’s eyebrows lift slowly. “Hey there. How much coffee have you had today?” 

“Not that much,” she admits, squeezing her hands into fists for a moment before forcing herself to relax them. “I was just… I was worried about you.” 

He sighs, setting his bag down on his desk. “Don’t look at me like that, Betty,” he says quietly. “Makes me feel like a charity case.” 

“No!” she says quickly. She can feel the way her eyes have gone round in her face. “No, I didn’t mean - ”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I know you didn’t.” He sighs and, to her surprise, takes off his beanie, tossing it down on the desk as well and running a hand through his hair. When he looks up at her again, he says, “Come here.” 

She steps out from behind her desk and walks over to him. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. Alright? I’m good,” he says, and then he wraps her up in a hug. 

Betty hugs him back automatically, pressing her face into his shoulder. He smells like soap and smoke. “How long has it been like this?” she asks against his flannel shirt. 

“Since my mom left.” 

“Since your _mom left_?” She pulls back to look at his face. “Juggie, that was sophomore year.” 

He lifts his hand like he’s going to touch her cheek, but he doesn’t, dropping it down to his side instead. “Betts, look… I know that your cup runneth over when it comes to caring about people. Or anything, really. When we were in first grade Archie stepped on a bee and I think you cried for like an hour. But please don’t - this isn’t something for you to fix. And even if it was, you couldn’t. I’m handling it. It’s not great, but it’s okay.” His eyes are solemn as they meet hers. “I haven’t bugged you about your sister. So please don’t… get up in arms about this. And don’t tell Arch.”

She bites her bottom lip. It goes against her instincts, what he’s asking of her. She wants to help; she’s not sure she can just pretend the situation is fine. 

“Say okay,” Jughead prompts gently, and then jokes, “Or I will take away your access to all of this.” He waves his hands in front of his body. 

Betty cracks a smile in spite of herself. “What makes you think that’s a threat?” 

He levels her with a look. “Please; you basically jumped me on Saturday.” 

She gasps. “No, I _didn’t_.” 

“It’s okay, Betty, I won’t tell,” he teases, but he’s still got that somber look in his eyes and he adds, “And neither will you, right?” 

She sighs. After a few seconds, she reluctantly says, “Fine - _if_ you promise to let me know if you need anything.” 

He smirks, and she has the distinct feeling he’s imagining her stomping into the trailer with her blonde ponytail and ordering his father into sobriety, but he nods. “Cross my heart.” At her pointed look, he rolls his eyes and traces a finger in an X across his chest. 

“Okay,” she murmurs, though she really does wish she could at least tell Archie. 

Jughead reaches out and closes his fingers around hers, giving her hand a squeeze before he lets go. “So - what are our next steps with the Grundy thing?” 

Betty shrugs. “I called Centreville High this morning. The secretary wouldn’t tell me if or when a Geraldine Grundy had worked there. She seemed like she thought I was a student trying to play a prank.” 

He nods slowly. “Yearbooks would tell us that, right? There are pages for teachers.” 

She stares at him for a moment. “Why didn’t you say anything about this _before_ I tried to grill her under the guise of an interview?” 

It’s Jughead’s turn to shrug. “I didn’t know if I should drag you on a roadtrip to Centreville and attempt to sneak into the school library unnoticed if there didn’t actually seem to be anything sketchy going on.” He smiles at her. “I didn’t want to corrupt law-abiding Betty Cooper for no reason.” 

She rolls her eyes. “None of that’s criminal.” There’s a beat before she says, more softly, “And I think you’ve corrupted me plenty already.” 

“I’m not sure it counts if it’s at your request.” 

His hair is falling into his eyes, and she’s not surprised, anymore, when she feels weak-kneed around him. “It counts.” 

 

 

Archie comes into the student lounge during her free period, when she should be working on a set of math problems but is actually reading ahead in the novel they’re covering in English - she’s too absorbed in the story to turn her attention to calculus. He says, “Hey, Betts,” and drops down on the couch next to her. 

“Hi,” she says, closing the book. “We don’t have the same free.” 

“I’ve been excused from Bio because dissections make me faint,” he says, nudging the leg she’s got curled up on the couch. “It’s all above board.” 

She gives Archie the look she’s been giving him since they were four years old, one that’s meant to be stern but is mostly just fond. “Except for the fact that dissections don’t make you faint.” 

“You don’t know my life, Betty Cooper,” he says, which is such a lie that it makes them both laugh. “Hey, so, sorry if you don’t… wanna talk about it, but are things… okay at home?” 

“They’re not great. But they’re okay,” she says, and it’s only after the words have left her mouth that she realizes she’s echoing what Jughead said to her when she asked about his father. 

“You were there for me when my parents split up,” Archie says. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, too, with everything going on with your sister and your parents. I know maybe you’d rather talk to Ronnie, but… I’m here if you need me.” 

“Thanks, Arch,” she says softly, touched. 

“Of course,” he says firmly. He leans back into the couch cushions, getting comfortable. “Speaking of Ronnie, actually - we were thinking of having a movie marathon this Saturday night. You in?” 

She hesitates. If she declines, he’ll want to know why. She _can’t_ keep using Polly’s disappearance from her life as an excuse, not when it makes both Archie and Veronica look like they want to wrap her in blankets and hand her tissues, and especially not after what he’s just said. But as far as her social life goes, she has no other real reason not to hang out with her best friends - except for the one she can’t say. 

“Betts?” Archie prompts, and there’s already some of that wide-eyed sympathy sneaking onto his face. 

“That sounds like fun,” she says.

Archie grins. “Awesome! I’ll invite Jughead, too. So you don’t feel like a third wheel.” He seems to realize what he’s implying and quickly adds, “Not that you ever are! You’re never a third wheel.” 

“It’s okay, Arch,” she laughs. “I kind of am, but I’m cool with it.”

He looks sheepish. “Okay. I’ll text Jug now.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

“Tell him I’ll be there,” Betty says. When Archie looks up at her, a wordless _why?_ in his expression, she adds quickly, “You know, so _he_ doesn’t feel like a third wheel.” 

“Right, good thinking,” he says, returning his attention to his phone and typing away. 

Betty exhales slowly, and with as much nonchalance as she can muster, opens her book up again.

 

 

_sounds like we’re watching movies this weekend_ , says the text from Jughead that lights Betty’s phone when she’s lying in bed at night, a book in her hands, her eyelids starting to get heavy. 

_yeah. couldn’t think of a reason why i couldn’t go,_ she replies, nestling into her blankets. 

_there’s always next weekend._

She stifles a yawn and types, _yeah :)_

_or there’s tomorrow._

Abruptly less sleepy, she writes, _what do you mean?_

_you could meet me @ blue &gold after cheer practice._

She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. _and then go where?_

_nowhere._

Her mouth falls open and she types, _at school??_

_there’s a door,_ he replies, followed quickly by, _you can say no - totally your call._

Betty takes a breath. _i’m not saying no._

_you’re saying maybe?_

She shakes his head, as though he can see her, and before she can talk herself out of it, sends, _i’m saying yes._

_see you tomorrow then betts._

_goodnight,_ she writes back. She double-checks that her alarm is set for the morning, marks her page in her book, and turns off her lamp. 

She was on the verge of sleep before, but now she’s full of butterflies. She tosses and turns for a few moments and then shifts onto her back and slips a hand into her underwear. In the darkness of her room, in the quiet of her house, she murmurs Jughead’s name into her pink pillowcase. 

 

 

He’s already in the newspaper office when she arrives, freshly showered, her wet hair in two braids. She closes the door behind her and, after a moment of thought, props a chair against it as a precautionary measure. 

“The only people who’re still here are the football players,” he says. He’s sitting on his desk, watching her, and he sounds amused. “And I promise, they’re not coming to the school newspaper office.” 

“Better safe than sorry,” Betty says. She sets her bag and her coat down on her own desk before she approaches his. 

As soon as she’s close enough, he reaches out and hooks fingers into the belt loops of her jeans, tugging her toward him so that she’s standing between his legs. “I like the braids,” he says. “You look like Heidi.” 

“Thanks,” she says on a quiet laugh. She can already feel her breath getting shallow in her chest. 

Jughead smiles at her. It’s warm and wonderful and the only thing she can do with that smile is kiss it. 

For a few minutes they just kiss. His hands cup her ass and she tugs his beanie off his head before she rests her hands on his neck, fingertips sliding into the hair at the base of his skull. 

“You like taking that off,” he observes between kisses, his words low and lazy. 

“I like your hair,” she replies, but the truth is that she relishes the privilege of being able to see him without it. 

He tugs her a little closer, lifting her slightly, and there’s some awkward shuffling and banging around as she manages to get herself in is lap. She knows immediately that straddling him on the wooden desk is going to hurt her knees, especially after cheer practice, so she has to shift some more, wrapping her legs loosely around him instead. 

“Hi,” she breathes when she’s finally comfortable, smiling at him. 

“Hi,” he echoes, tracing fingers gently along her cheek. 

They kiss again. She grinds her hips down against his and he pushes his hips back up against hers. She puts her mouth on his neck and sucks at his pulse point, his collar bone, enjoying the soft, rough noises he makes in response. When he unbuttons her shirt he groans, taking her breasts into his hands immediately. 

“Where’s your bra?” he murmurs. 

She smirks softly. “I didn’t think there was much point in putting it on if I was just going to take it off again.” She reaches between them to unbutton his jeans. “Did you bring a condom?” 

“Yeah,” he says, sounding out of breath. “But we don’t have to use it. I just wanted to make last week up to you.” 

“But isn’t that what we were going to do last week?” She watches her fingers pull his zipper downward and on an impulse of confidence, clarifies, “Fuck?” 

He bites one of her breasts, hard enough to make her gasp sharply. “ _Jug._ ” 

“Sorry,” he breathes, soothing the sore spot with his tongue. His hands are all over her: her back, her hips, the button of her own jeans. “I just - didn’t think Betty Cooper had such a dirty mouth.” 

The way he’s touching her, the way he’d bitten her, the quiet strain in his words - these things lead Betty to conclude that he likes it. She leans into him, putting her mouth right against his ear, which makes him shiver. “I was thinking about you last night,” she murmurs, “and - ” Her cheeks burn abruptly, but she continues, “… touching myself.”

Jughead grabs her jaw, pulling her into a bruising kiss, and then picks her up, laying her down gently on one of the spare desks, his hand cradling the back of her head briefly. He helps her out of her jeans and her panties. “Let me… put my mouth on you,” he says, leaning over her. She starts to shake her head, but he presses a kiss just to the left of her bellybutton and says, “Please, Betts. You’re killing me here. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” 

She hesitates for another moment, but eventually she nods, biting her lip. 

“Thank you,” he says, and a second later he’s kneeling on the floor, her calves are on his shoulders, and his tongue is exploring her. When it hits her clit her hips give an involuntary little jerk. 

He brings her higher and higher with two fingers inside of her and his mouth working on her. He has to experiment a little, and it takes him a few minutes to find what she needs, but when he does, her fingers grip his hair and she says, “ _Yes_ ,” very firmly and he listens, keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, using his lips and his tongue on her until Betty is a whimpering mess, the hand that’s not in his hair scrambling for something to hold on to. She has to bite down on one of her knuckles when she comes to keep from making too much noise. 

She lays on the desk and tries to catch her breath as he gets to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He moves in and leans over her to kiss her, murmuring, “Beautiful,” just before their mouths meet. She can taste herself on his tongue. 

“Let’s do it,” she says softly, resting a hand against his cheek. “Let’s have sex.” 

“Are you sure?”

She smiles. “You always ask me that. This was my idea.” 

“I know,” he says, sliding a hand up one of her thighs. “Just - here? At school?”

“This was _your_ idea,” Betty huffs. She bends her legs at the knees and pokes at the waistband of his jeans with her big toes, orders, “Off.” 

He laughs and tugs his shirt up over his head, tossing it aside before he takes off his jeans. “I know, Betts, just - shouldn’t it be different than this for you?” He glances around the room, the old dusty computers, the shelves and the books. 

She props herself up on her elbows to look at him more easily. “Juggie, do you want to?” 

He looks at her, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yes.” 

“I want to, too. So let’s do it. There’s no reason not to.”

Jughead looks at her for a moment, appearing to think it over, and then nods. “Okay,” he says, leaning back over her for a kiss. 

 

 

He fingers her again, until she’s trembling and more than ready for him, and then he puts on the condom and moves inside of her slowly. 

It hurts, but not nearly as much as it did last time. It’s a pain she can handle, and whenever she grimaces, he freezes, waiting for her little nod to let him know that he can keep going. 

Jughead groans quietly, both hands gripping her hips, one thumb smoothing softly, soothingly over her skin. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” she says. Her voice is a little shaky, but it’s the truth - she’s okay. 

His eyes are stormy and intent; her stomach tightens as he looks at her. “I’m not going to last long,” he says hoarsely. 

“It’s okay,” Betty says. She rolls her hips up a little, encouraging him. 

A small gasp slips out of her mouth each time he thrusts into her, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk she’s stretched out on. In their current position, they can’t really kiss, and she wishes they could. One of his hands presses against the desk, and she has to settle for wrapping her fingers lightly around his wrist. His other hand gropes one of her breasts briefly before he grabs her hip again, holding her tightly. 

Betty watches him, noticing the muscles straining in his arms and the shape of his mouth. When he looks right at her, their gazes locking, she feels utterly overwhelmed. This is the most intimate thing she’s ever done with another person, and that person is him. Jughead Jones. 

He curses, breaking eye contact, and then he’s coming, he’s coming _inside_ of her, his breaths sharp and uneven, his muscles tensed and quivering. And just like that, it’s over, and Betty’s no longer a virgin. 

Jughead pulls out of her slowly, takes the condom off and tosses it into a nearby trash can, and then says, “Come here,” as he slips his hands around to her back, pulling her up and against him. Her legs curl around his slightly, her heels against his calves, and she wraps her arms around his torso as she rests her cheek against his shoulder. 

He skims a hand down her back, fingertips against the ridges of her spine, and asks, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says, closing her eyes for a moment. 

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” 

She tilts her head back to look at him. “I’m good,” she promises. 

He presses a soft kiss to her mouth. “I don’t have words for how amazing that was,” he says in the quietest voice, like it’s a secret, a confession. 

“I didn’t think Jughead Jones was ever speechless,” she says with a hint of a smile. 

“I guess it’s a night of many firsts,” he says, kissing her again, lifting one hand to her jaw. 

It’s a slow, lingering kiss, and when it breaks they stay close to one another, resting their foreheads together. 

She doesn’t want to ruin the silence, the _moment_ they’re having, but it’s getting late and she has to, sighing before she says,“My mom will be suspicious if I’m not back soon.”

Jughead plants a quick kiss on her forehead before he pulls away. “Nothing makes me want to be naked less than the mention of your mother,” he says, putting his boxers back on before he starts gathering her clothes for her. 

She puts on her underwear and her jeans before going to her bag to retrieve her bra. She feels shy - for some weird reason, it’s more uncomfortable to dress together than to _un_ dress together. 

“We should clean that desk,” she says abruptly, and Jughead laughs, combing fingers through his hair before he puts his beanie back on, but she insists: “Seriously.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the exasperation on his face is all for show. He kisses her while she’s still doing the buttons on her shirt. “You go home before your mother grounds you for all eternity. I’ll raid the janitor’s closet.” 

“Thanks, Juggie,” she says, hauling her backpack up onto one shoulder.

“It’s no problem.” 

She removes the chair from in front of the door and turns to say goodbye, but when she looks back at Jughead he’s smiling down at the floor, lost in his own thoughts, and she has to press her lips tightly together to prevent a big, silly grin from forming on own her face as she leaves quietly and heads for the parking lot. 

 

 

At home, after dinner, she takes another shower. She stands under the warm water for a long time, trying to figure out if she feels any different. 

In her room, she puts on a matching pyjama set and crawls into bed. She falls asleep almost immediately. 

 

 

Veronica opens the door of Archie’s house like it’s her own, beaming when she sees Betty. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She hugs Betty tightly. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately. We need some serious quality time.” 

Betty laughs into Veronica’s hair. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

Hooking her arm through Betty’s, Veronica guides her into the kitchen, where Jughead and Archie are filling bowls with popcorn and chips. Jughead offers her a two-fingered salute by way of greeting, and Archie says, “Hey, Betty.” 

“He’s not speaking,” Veronica says with a roll of her eyes, nodding to Jughead. “I told him that if he didn’t have anything nice to say about our movie choices, he shouldn’t say anything at all, and - well. You see what’s happening.” 

Betty smiles, accepting the can of Diet Coke Archie hands her. “What are we watching?” 

“We’re beginning with a _classic film_ ,” Veronica says, looking pointedly at Jughead. “ _When Harry Met Sally_. Archie’s never seen it.” 

Jughead looks vaguely pained as he takes another bag of popcorn out of the microwave, and Betty can’t help but giggle. 

“Ignore his pouting,” Veronica says. 

“Snacks are all ready,” Archie adds, picking up two bowls.

They head into the living room, where Vegas, who’s napping on the couch, eyes them all curiously and sniffs at the air. 

“Come on, boy,” Archie says, “Make room.” 

“It’s okay, I’m good on the floor,” Jughead says, sitting down with his back against the couch. “You’re welcome to join me in the third wheel section,” he tells Betty, the corners of his mouth quirking in the beginnings of a smile.

“Stop that,” Veronica says. “We can all squeeze on the couch.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Betty says. “I don’t mind the floor.” She extracts a throw pillow from underneath Vegas to put behind her back. She sits down with the tiniest of winces; she’s a little sore today. 

Jughead notices and nudges her arm with his. “You okay?” he asks very quietly. 

She nods, nudging his arm back, and reaches over for a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap. “Just so you know, back there,” she says to Veronica and Archie, “We might not be able to see you, but we still have ears.” 

Veronica giggles and Archie says something to her, low and indistinct. Betty and Jughead roll their eyes in near perfect unison. 

“Okay, let’s get this started,” Veronica says. She turns off the lamp and presses play. 

As the movie begins, Betty shifts around a bit, getting comfortable. Her knee touches Jughead’s and he doesn’t move away. 

She looks over at him and finds that he’s looking at her, his eyes glowing in the blue light emanating from the television. She can read the question clearly in his eyes: _are you sure you’re okay?_

She widens her eyes at him, wordlessly saying _yes, stop asking._

His lips twitch into a smile, and he turns his attention back to the TV. 

A moment later, his hand comes to rest on her knee. It stays there until Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal kiss at the end of the film. 

 

 

tbc.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is alternatively titled "PWP: Plot Without Porn/Porn What Porn?" 
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! I love receiving every single one of your comments.

Betty wants to call her sister and talk about what happened. 

She remembers Polly slipping into her room late at night, smelling like rum and snow, nudging her awake and crawling under the blankets. 

“I slept with Jason,” Polly had whispered, and Betty’s tired eyes had opened wide. 

“What was it like?” she’d whispered back, wincing as her sister’s cold feet made contact with her calves. 

“Oh, Betty, it was perfect,” Polly had sighed, her eyes shining. “It made everything… even better.” She was beaming. “He said he loves me.” 

Betty had wanted to know if it hurt, if Jason was nice to her, if Polly wanted to do it again. They’d whispered and giggled and Polly had said, “You have to tell me. When you do it.”

And Betty wants to. What happened with Jughead in the Blue & Gold office wasn’t perfect, and no one said the L-word, but it was what she wanted, and it happened with someone she trusts so completely, and she’s happy. The sex itself was more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but Jughead’s mouth on her before and the way he’d held her after - those are good things that fill her heart, things that she wants to share with her sister. 

When she thinks of Jughead’s forehead resting against hers, of the softness of his kiss, something blooms warm and lovely in her chest, a feeling so pure and unpolluted that she could cry. 

Polly doesn’t pick up her phone. Betty hangs up on the cheerful voicemail greeting and she does cry then, frustrated with her sister. They’ve always been a team against all the unfair expectations of their parents; it was always the two of them against the world. She understands that Polly is upset with their parents, but _she_ hasn’t done anything wrong and she doesn’t deserve to be ignored. 

She scrolls through her contacts, her thumb hovering briefly over Jughead’s name before she selects Veronica instead. As soon as Veronica answers, Betty’s sobbing and rambling, and her friend is making soft, sympathetic sounds, murmuring, “Oh, honey, it’s okay.” 

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling,” Betty says in her choked voice. “I don’t even know what kind of crying this is.” She sucks in some air but it doesn’t seem to help. “I need my sister,” she says, the same way most people would say _I need my mom._

“I know, B,” Veronica says gently. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m on her side,” Betty weeps. “Doesn’t she know that?” 

“She definitely should. Betty, do you want me to come over?” 

Betty counts to five as she exhales, trying to regain control over her breathing. “No,” she says after a moment of silence. “No, it’s okay, I’m okay - you have that Bio test tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on. Screw the test. You’re more important.”

Betty’s lips turn up in a tiny smile that doesn't last. “I love you, but it’s okay, really.” 

“You sound like you could use company,” Veronica presses. 

“No, I… I’m too much of a mess to even talk about anything,” Betty sighs. “I’m just going to go to bed early, I think.” 

“You can call me if you change your mind. I'll come over just to sit with you, if that's what you want. I love you. You’re _my_ sister. You know that, right?”

“I know that,” Betty says softly, sniffling. 

“Okay, good. I’ll bring you a croissant in the morning. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, V,” Betty sighs. 

She hangs up and changes into a pair of pyjamas, even though it’s only half past eight. She turns off the light and burrows beneath her blankets, trying to clear her mind and hoping that she’ll fall asleep quickly. 

 

 

Sleep doesn't come; Betty’s still awake thirty minutes later when there’s a soft tapping against her window. At first, she thinks it must be the wind, or her imagination, but when the sound comes again it has a distinct tune, that of _shave and a haircut, two bits._

She gets up slowly and pads over to the window in her bare feet, pulling her one of her curtains back very slowly. When she sees a face on the other side of the glass, she jumps about a foot into the air, dropping the curtain and clapping a hand over her mouth. 

A couple seconds later, when her heart isn’t pounding so hard, she pulls the curtain back again to look at Jughead. She can read his lips when he says, “Sorry.” 

Betty opens her window, letting in a blast of frigid air. “Jug, what are you _doing_?”

He clambers inside ungracefully. “Scaring you to death, apparently. Sorry about that.” 

She closes the window and turns to face him. In the chill he’s brought in with him, she’s sure her nipples are visible through her old t-shirt, but it’s not like it matters, not with Jughead. She rubs at her bare arms, which are covered in goosebumps. “What are you doing here?” 

He looks at her unmade bed. “Were you asleep?”

“No,” she says, and then gives him a prompting look. 

“I, uh - I was over at Archie’s, and he was texting Veronica, and apparently Veronica said you were upset, so I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Betty looks at his face, the blue eyes that are searching hers, the corner of his mouth pulled downward almost apologetically, and it’s that same feeling as before, the ache in her chest that’s full of both sweet, fluttering happiness and all the frustration and abandonment she feels when she thinks of her sister - and she bursts into tears all over again. 

“Aw, Betts,” he says quietly, and then he hugs her, his arms wrapped around her securely. “Shh,” he murmurs as she cries against his chest. They stay like that for a while, until her sobs have faded away and she’s left with a sore throat and puffy eyes. 

Jughead lifts a hand and rubs gently at the back of her neck. “Can you tell me what it is?” 

“Polly,” she mumbles into his shoulder, one last orphan sob slipping out. 

“Shh,” he says again, and she feels him kiss her temple. 

“It’s not about you or us or anything,” she says, “if you were worried about that. You didn’t have to come over.”

He makes a quiet noise, somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “Only in my wildest dreams does a girl like you cry over a guy like me.” He rubs her back. “Not that I dream about making girls cry. That’s not what I meant.” 

She breathes a watery laugh and pulls away from him, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m such a mess,” she mutters. 

“No,” Jughead says softly, tucking her hair back behind one of her ears. 

“I think I’m mad at her, Juggie. I know that’s not fair, but I feel like _she’s_ not being fair. I didn’t kick her out of my life. I still love her. But she - she just _left_ me here with _them_ and she won’t even answer my calls and I just - I _miss_ her. I feel like I’m alone.” 

“You’re not alone, Betty. You know you have me. And Archie, Veronica. Kevin.” 

“I’m alone here,” she says softly, blinking hard. “In this house.” 

“Not right now, you’re not,” he points out with a half smile, cupping her cheek in his hand. 

She leans into his touch for a moment. “Can you - can you stay for a little while?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Betty brushes the remaining moisture away from under her eyes with her fingers. “Will you lay down with me?” 

He nods, kissing her once before he gestures toward the bed, toeing off his shoes. 

She’s never had a boy in her bed before, and, aside from Archie, she doesn’t think a boy has ever seen her in her pyjamas, which consist, tonight, of an old debating team tee and a pair of flannel pants with cartoon elephants on them. It doesn’t seem weird, though, that Jughead’s there, that he’s seeing her all sleepy and snotty and undone, her hair down and no makeup on her face. When he curls his body around hers, pulling her back against his chest, she feels relaxed, not self-conscious. 

She closes her eyes for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of his arm wrapped around her middle, the whisper of his breath against her neck. When he asks, “Are you tired?” she feels the words rumble through his chest. 

“No,” Betty sighs. “Not at all.” 

“Do you want to talk?”

“Not about Polly.” 

“How about Grundy?” 

She shifts onto her back so that she can see his face. His hand slips just beneath her shirt. “You sound like a man with a plan.”

“Sort of, yeah. I was thinking we could go to Centreville on Thursday. You don’t have Vixens practice, right?”

“Nope.” 

“Think you could get your mom to let you miss dinner?” 

Betty nods. “Yeah, if it’s for the paper, she won’t care.” 

“We’d probably have to skip last two periods. It’ll be kind of suspicious if we show up at Centreville High at four-thirty when most of the students are gone.” 

“Okay.”

His eyebrows lift a little. “Have you ever played hooky before?”

“No,” she admits. “But I’m ready to lose my truant virginity.” She gives him a little smile. 

“It’s a plan, then,” he says, his eyes on her mouth. 

She moves again, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him, and kisses him before she nestles her body in close to his, her face tucked into his neck. She can feel his breathing settle into a slow, sleepy pattern as hers does the same. 

“Night, Juggie,” she whispers, and she’s fast asleep before she even hears his response. 

 

 

His kiss against her cheek wakes her early in the morning, before five. It’s still dark outside. 

“I’ve gotta get going,” he whispers. “I’ll see you at school. Go back to sleep.” 

“Mmkay,” she murmurs drowsily, closing her eyes. She hears her window open and shut, and then she drifts off again wrapped in blankets that still hold the warmth from his body. 

 

 

On Tuesday, Betty goes back to therapy; her psychologist has returned from vacation. 

Dr. Martin asks, in her neutral voice, “How are things?” and the words just begin to spill out. She recaps the situation with Polly’s engagement and her parents’ reactions and then describes how angry, how frustrated, how hurt all three of them have been making her feel. Betty hates crying in therapy, but she does, clutching a used tissue in one fist as Dr. Martin responds with soft, understanding words and encouraging questions. 

Toward the end of the session, Dr. Martin sets down the notepad she's been holding and leans forward a bit. “May I see your hands?” she asks in her unassuming tone. She always makes Betty feel like it would be okay to say no. 

Betty holds out her hands, palms up, uncurling her fingers slowly to expose old sets of scars that have received some prodding in the last few weeks. 

“Have you been making fists lately?” 

Betty shrugs. “Sometimes. I - I’m catching myself, mostly.” 

“That’s good,” Dr. Martin says. “You’re remembering to be kind to yourself.” 

“I’m still doing it, though,” Betty says quietly. 

“You’ll stop completely when you’re ready. The day will come when the anxious voice in your head won't demand this kind of release.” Dr. Martin sits back again. “Betty, it sounds like you’ve been dealing with quite a lot, and I’m sorry my vacation coincided with all the disruption in your life. But you don’t appear to be making your hands bleed, and by your own account, you’re catching yourself. Considering everything that’s been going on at home, I think you’re doing very well. The Betty I met two years ago wouldn’t have been able to catch herself when she was dealing with this kind of stress.” 

“I guess,” Betty says, folding her hands in her lap. 

“Your coping methods have really improved, Betty. You should be proud of yourself.” Dr. Martin glances at the clock. “We have a couple minutes left. Let’s take a moment to find the good. Tell me, what have you found to be a positive force in your life in the midst of all this?” 

Dr. Martin is the third therapist Betty’s seen, and the first she really likes, really trusts. Still - there’s no way she can say _I had sex with a boy I’ve known since childhood and I feel really good about everything that’s happened between us._ There will be follow-up questions, and Betty knows that the minute she says that they’re not dating and she’s completely fine with their arrangement, alarm bells will go off in the doctor’s head. She’ll think Jughead is a replacement for Betty’s nails digging sharply into her palms, a new bad habit that hurts just enough, and that’s not what he is, not at all. 

Nonetheless, she’s made a promise to herself to always tell Dr. Martin some semblance of the truth, so she says, “I’m… kind of seeing someone?” 

Dr. Martin smiles, looking as pleased as she would be if Betty had said _I’m taking my pills everyday._ “That’s wonderful,” she says, and Betty turns the faintest shade of pink. 

“Yes,” she says. “It’s good.”

 

 

The sun is shining so fiercely on Thursday that Betty squints as she makes her way to the school parking lot, momentarily blinded by its brightness against the snow. Jughead’s leaning against the driver’s side door of his dad’s pickup truck, a paperback with curling pages open in his hands, waiting for her. 

“Hey!” she calls to him, jogging over. 

He looks up and smiles, closing his book. “I was beginning to think you’d chickened out.”

She tsks. “Ye of little faith. What are you reading?” 

“Capote. Trying to get in an investigative mood.” He opens the door and gestures to the seat. “You can slide over or go around.” 

It seems to be the path of least resistance, so she gets in on the driver’s side and shimmies over on the long seat, setting her bookbag down next to her feet. “This is a great car,” she says, giving the dash a little pat. 

“Yeah,” Jughead agrees, turning the keys in the ignition and back out of his parking space. “We’re pretty fond of her.” 

Betty smiles over at him knowingly. “Does she have a name?” 

He mimes locking his lips together and throwing away the key. 

She laughs and says, wistfully, “I’d love to look under her hood.” 

Jughead snorts, trying and failing to quell a smile. “Sorry, that just sounds - you can, if you want. Look at her engine.” 

“Yeah?”

“Sure. When we get back.” 

“Awesome,” Betty says, beaming, and Jughead laughs. 

“I’ve known you for what - thirteen years? And it’s still crazy to me that you’re such a gearhead.” 

She shrugs, slipping off her mittens and holding her hands out to the vents to feel the warm air they’re blasting. “I have layers. Like an onion.”

Jughead nods, his face serious except for the crinkles of amusement at the corners of his eyes. “Like a really good nacho dip.” 

She laughs. “Yeah, like that.” 

Jughead turns on the radio and they spend a few minutes in companionable silence, listening to music and ads. He catches her singing along softly to a song and glances over at her, his smile amused and so - so _soft_ , somehow. Like he’d said, she’s known him for over a decade, but there are still pieces of him that are slowly revealing themselves to her, and each one feels special, like a small but meaningful gift. She hadn’t known, before today, that he had a smile like that, a smile that could melt ice, a smile she wants to memorize. 

“Plans for this weekend, Betts?” he asks, snapping her out of the fuzzy cocoon of her thoughts. 

“Oh,” she says, “Um. We’re hanging out, aren’t we? On Saturday?” 

He looks at her, then back at the road, then at her once more before training his eyes on the highway. “We are?” 

Her stomach twists, and it feels almost like rejection, like nausea and sadness with a burning coat of embarrassment. It’s a starling feeling that makes her frown. “We don’t have to,” she says quickly, because Betty Cooper never inconveniences anyone. “If you’re busy, or if you just… ”

“I’m not busy, I just thought - well, you know. We did it. And that was the whole goal, right?”

“Right,” she says. “Right.” 

Jughead’s eyes flick back and forth again, repeatedly, between her face and the road. “What is it, Betts?” he prods after the silence between them starts to stretch. 

“Nothing.” 

“Betty.” 

She sighs, sliding her hands back into her mittens and then balling her hands into fists. “We could do it again. A few more times, maybe.” She stares at her hands. She knit these mittens herself; her sister has a matching pair. “It didn't feel _bad_ or anything, but it did kind of hurt, and I’d like to do it and… not have it hurt? And maybe… I don’t know. Get at least kind of good at it.” 

When she chances a glance up at him, his gaze is forward, trained through the windshield. “Yeah,” he says. “I want you to do it and not have it hurt, too. And… yeah. Practice makes perfect.” 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Betty says. She hates that word, and it’s not what she wants. “Right now, things with us… they’re good, right? They can just keep being good. Maybe get great. Maybe even get excellent, I don’t know. But right now, we’re…” She struggles to find the right words. “I like it, Juggie. What we’re doing. How we are.” 

That smile, the one she’s just found today, emerges on his face again, though he’s still not looking at her. He says, “Me too.” 

 

 

They don’t park in Centreville High’s lot but a couple blocks away. They walk to the school with their heads bent against the wind, jog up the steps to the entrance, and glance around in opposite directions when they step inside. 

“Clear over here,” Jughead says, and Betty giggles, suddenly feeling like she’s in a spy movie. 

They walk through the hallways nonchalantly, trying not to make it too obvious that they’re peering around corners, searching for the school’s library. There’s activity in the gym, sneakers squeaking against the floor and the steady beat of a bouncing basketball, and they pass three students carrying a large diorama so carefully they don’t even look up, but otherwise, the school is fairly quiet. 

When they finally find the library, Jughead steps inside first, earning a suspicious glance from the bespectacled librarian, but Betty hurries in after him and chirps, “Hi!” at a library-appropriate volume, grabbing his hand and taking the lead. The librarian looks back at her computer. 

As they walk past shelves, Jughead looks back over his shoulder. “You’re the world’s best cover,” he marvels. 

The yearbooks are jammed onto a shelf in a back corner of the room; their spines are dusty. They look through the teaching staff pages in the one from 2012, then 2013, then 2014, and Betty can see doubt and resignation settling over Jughead’s features as she flips through the 2015 yearbook, only to find Miss. Gibson, music teacher - who looks exactly like Geraldine Grundy. 

“Jug,” she whispers. 

He looks at the page and his eyes widen briefly. “Well, shit,” he says quietly. He takes out his phone and snaps a couple pictures. 

Betty closes the yearbook and squeezes it back into its place between 2014 and 2016. She thinks of Trev Brown and feels sick. 

Her distress must show on her face, because Jughead says softly, “It’s alright. Let’s just get out of here, and then we’ll figure out what to do.” 

She nods, swallowing down her queasy feelings. He takes her hand, and they adopt an unhurried pace as they walk back out of the library. 

 

 

In the truck, on the road again, Betty takes off her boots and pulls her legs up onto the seat. “I didn’t want it to be true,” she admits softly. 

Jughead sighs. “I was pretty sure it was, but… having it confirmed is pretty sobering.” 

“She’s mentoring Trev, Jug. Of all people. We have to tell him. We have to tell Weatherbee. It’s not just a story, it’s… ”

“I know.” He reaches over and gives her knee a quick, comforting squeeze. “We will.” 

“Will they believe us? We still don’t have proof that she’s the teacher from the article.” 

“No,” Jughead agrees. “But there’s a lot of coincidence here, and if we take it to Weatherbee, he can talk to Keller - the Greendale police will have records.” He looks over at her. “It’s going to be okay, Betts.” 

“Yeah,” she murmurs, but she’s not entirely sure. It’s possible that Miss Grundy’s relationship with Trev has already crossed a line.

Both she and Jughead are quiet for a while. She almost feels like she could cry, so she tries to focus on keeping her breathing steady and calm, and rehearsing what they might say to Principal Weatherbee in her head. 

She can’t concentrate, though, and she sucks in a breath, thinking again of how nervous she, inexperienced Betty Cooper, had made Trev. She can’t imagine - 

“Betts,” Jughead says, and she looks over at him. “The truck’s name is Daphne.” 

The smile her lips curl into is small and fleeting, but it’s something. It keeps her from crying. 

 

tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

Betty meets Jughead at school early the next day, so early that they end up standing outside Principal Weatherbee’s office before he even arrives. They both lean back against the wall as they wait; Betty presses her palms against the sides of her legs to prevent her fingers from curling into her palms unconsciously. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Jughead says softly, though the way he’s bouncing his leg tells her that he’s anxious, too. “We’re telling an adult, just like they say to in after-school specials.” 

“I just don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t believe us,” she says, her mouth twisting into a half-frown as she looks over at him. 

“We won’t quit, that’s what we’ll do,” he says simply, and the conviction in his voice lets her breathe a little easier. 

Weatherbee arrives a few minutes later and looks at them curiously. “Miss Cooper, Mr. Jones,” he greets. “You’re an unlikely pair to find outside my office first thing in the morning.” 

“We have something very important we need to talk to you about,” Betty says, straightening up and trying to channel her mother’s commanding presence. “It can’t wait.” 

“Come in,” Weatherbee says. They follow him into his office and sit in the two chairs that face his desk. “What is it that you need to discuss?” 

Betty pulls a folder out of her bag, opens it on Weatherbee’s desk, and spreads its contents out for him to see. She launches into the simplified explanation she and Jughead came up with on their way back to Riverdale, outlining everything that’s happened, from Jughead’s discovery of the article from the Centreville newspaper to yesterday’s roadtrip. 

Weatherbee frowns deeply, holding the picture of Miss Gibson from the Centreville yearbook, which Betty printed in colour in the Blue & Gold office thirty minutes ago. He looks at it for so long that her attempt at patience fails and she says, “You’re going to fire her, right? You’re going to tell Sheriff Keller? Today?” 

Jughead’s foot nudges against hers, and when she turns to him she finds that he’s giving her a look that says _easy there, tiger._ She presses her lips together but keeps looking at Weatherbee expectantly. 

“We will take this very seriously,” Weatherbee finally says, his voice low, and Betty thinks she hears a hint of shock in it. “I guarantee it.” He sets the photograph down. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Your investigative skills are… admirable.” When Betty opens her mouth again, he turns to her, “I understand your concern for your classmates, especially Mr. Brown. I share that concern, Miss Cooper. I will take immediate steps to ensure his safety.” 

Her bottom lip trembles, just for a second, and she leans back in her chair, some of the weight lifting from her shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Weatherbee.” 

“In the mean time,” he says, “I’ll need your word that you won’t say a single thing about this to any of your peers. Including Mr. Andrews,” he adds, looking between them knowingly. 

“Okay,” Betty says. 

Jughead nods. “We won’t say anything, as long as you mean it. You’ll see this through.”

Weatherbee nods as well, his face solemn. “I most certainly will.”

 

 

Music classes are turned into free periods for the day, and at night, when Betty is at home in her bed watching Netflix, Kevin texts, _dad is super upset. seems like something’s going down. deets when i get them!_

She’s still worried, particularly about Trev, but by the time she parks in Sunnyside on Saturday evening, she feels like things might just turn out okay. She and Jughead managed to do something really good, something really effective. 

She lets herself into the trailer and finds Jughead sitting at the formica table. He’s reading _Othello_ , which they’re currently covering in English Lit, sticking post-its on certain pages. “Hey, Betts,” he says.

“Hey,” she replies. “Did you figure out what you’re going to write your essay on?” 

He shrugs, letting the play fall shut as he gets to his feet. “Something about Iago.” He smiles at her. “Want to take your coat off and stay a while?” 

“Yes,” she says. “Just - ”

“He won’t come home tonight.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, and in that single word, she hears so many layers, bitterness and disappointment and maybe even hurt. “I’m sure.” 

She takes off her coat, hangs it on a hook, and removes her boots. “Is everything - ”

Jughead walks over and kisses her, and she understands that he doesn’t want to talk about it. She kisses him back, slipping her arms beneath the unbuttoned, worn-in flannel shirt he’s wearing. 

“Come to my room?” he proposes, and Betty nods. He takes her hand and leads her down the hall. 

They make out on his bed, slowly helping each other out of their clothes. When she slides her hands over his back, his shoulders, his abdomen, she experiences a feeling that’s almost proprietary, like his bare skin is hers and hers alone. She feels pliable under his hands as he takes off her jeans; he quirks an eyebrow and grins when he sees her leopard-print panties.

Betty sits up on her knees and pushes Jughead back against his mattress. She straddles him and says, softly, “I never thanked you. For that night you came over.” 

“You don’t need to.” 

She licks her lips. “I want to. I - I want to make you come.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but she keeps talking before he can. “Tell me what you need. Or show me. Okay?” 

“Betts,” he sighs. He sounds sort of helpless and looks sort of desperate, and with his hair falling into his eyes, it’s almost too much for her to bear. She leans over him, their mouths a breath apart. “Okay?” 

“Yes,” he murmurs, and she shifts back down his body to take him in her mouth. 

For a while he just lets her use her internet-acquired blowjob skills; she keeps her mouth tight and hot around him and has to keep from smiling triumphantly when she hears his guttural groan. Eventually he covers the hand she’s got around him with one of his own, showing her how to stroke him. Once she’s got the fast-paced rhythm down, her hand and mouth working in tandem, he slips his hand into her hair instead, winding loose blonde locks around his fist so tightly it almost hurts. 

His thighs tremble and his stomach goes taut when he comes. It’s _more_ than Betty expects, warm and salty and startling in her mouth. She swallows and swirls her tongue around him as she straightens up. 

“Christ, Betts,” he breathes, sitting up beneath her. He puts a hand against the back of her neck as he kisses her and then slips his other hand between her legs. She gasps against his mouth and a second later she’s on her back on his bed and he’s licking up her wetness and she’s got a hand pressed against the back of his head, wordlessly asking for more. 

He does something new this time, something that makes her mouth stretch open in a silent scream, her hips rolling like she’s trying to ride his tongue, and she comes gasping, “Juggie, oh my god, _Jug_ ,” and when she pushes at his head gently, feeling sensitive and satiated, he doesn’t move away but instead starts again, fingers inside her, lips on her clit. Her back arches and she says, “I can’t - oh - Juggie, _oh_ ,” and it turns out that she _can_. The second orgasm hits her harder than the first, making her moan so loudly that the mere idea of such a sound coming out of her mouth would make her turn scarlet under any other circumstances. 

When he sits up, licking his lips and grinning, she’s certain that she’s looking at him with stars in her eyes. “Oh my god,” she sighs, shifting her legs further apart as he moves up her body. “Jug, that was…”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, kissing up the column of her neck, and she reaches for the box of condoms next to the bed. 

Sex is better this time. It still hurts just a little as he pushes into her, but the pain fades away. She loves being able to kiss him, to feel the bursts of his breath against her mouth. He hitches one of her legs up a bit further so that he can go deeper, and she experiences a little rush that can only be described as _yes_. It’s not like his mouth between her legs, it’s not quite orgasmic - but still. The depth of their closeness gives her butterflies: Jughead’s grip on her thigh, his mouth open in a groan against neck, how deeply he’s buried inside her when he comes. 

“Sorry,” he breathes as he rolls off of her, flopping down at her side. “We’ve got to work on the timing.” 

“It’s okay. I already… twice,” says, abruptly awash in shyness as she looks over at him. 

Jughead smiles at her. He’s tied off the condom, and now he sits up to toss it in his trashcan before laying back down. “Benefits of being a girl, right? I think it’s the universe’s way of apologizing for the childbearing thing.” 

Betty laughs, shyness gone again. “Whatever you were doing, it was… ”

“Good,” he says. He tugs her a little closer and she curls up on her side, her body pressed to his. “I’ll do it again,” he adds, and she hides her smile against his shoulder. 

They spend several minutes like that, Jughead’s hand stroking up and down her arm idly. Betty’s learned from the internet that she should always pee after sex, but she’s so content in her current position that she doesn’t want to move. 

Before she’s managed to talk herself into getting up and going to the bathroom, he says, “Are you hungry?” 

Her first instinct is to laugh at him - Jughead Jones, bottomless pit - but after a couple seconds of consideration, she realizes that she is sort of hungry. “I could eat, yeah.” 

“Want an eggo?” 

She laughs, tilting her head back to look at his face. “Sure.” 

He kisses her and then gets up, grabbing his boxers and heading for the kitchen. She puts her panties back on and pulls on his flannel shirt, buttoning it on her way to the bathroom.

After she’s washed her hands with the watermelon soap, she joins Jughead in the kitchen. He looks her over, taking in the sight of his shirt grazing the tops of her thighs, and she’s briefly worried that she’s crossed some sort of line - but he just smiles at her, his eyes a little dark, and then launches into an explanation of why the ‘eggo’ setting on the toaster is total bullshit. Betty leans a hip against the kitchen counter and listens, trying to nod along seriously, the occasional girlish giggle slipping out. 

 

 

By Wednesday, there’s still no official word on the Grudy situation, not from Weatherbee or Sheriff Keller, but the music classes are being covered by a substitute and Betty’s seen Trev Brown in the hallways, smiling with some football players and not looking fundamentally scarred, so she decides that’s enough reassurance for the moment - her week is already painfully busy with all of her duties as head of the event-planning committee.

When she walks into the Blue & Gold office after yet another unproductive meeting, she greets Jughead with a “Hey,” that sounds more like a sigh than a word, dropping her bag and collapsing into her chair. 

He starts to chuckle but stifles his laughter quickly when she glares. “Wow. What happened to you out there in the wilds of Riverdale High?” 

“ _Ginger_ happened to me,” Betty groans, resting her elbows on her desk and pressing her face into her hands. “I should never have sent her to buy decorations alone.”

“Decorations?” 

She resurfaces.. “For the Valentine’s dance.” 

“Oh. Right. When is that?” 

The look she gives him is meant to be withering, but she imagines it’s not entirely successful, considering the smile her mouth curls into of its own accord at how predictable it is that he’s oblivious to school functions. “Friday. There are posters all over the school, Jug.” 

He smiles. “Sorry. Should’ve known you were on the committee.”

“Chairing the committee,” she corrects. “A committee of girls so concerned with the outfits they’re going to wear that none of the actual preparation is happening on schedule.” 

Jughead taps a couple keys on his computer, probably saving something, and then leans back in his chair. “What are _you_ wearing?” 

“ _Not_ the point,” she sighs. “And I’m not wearing anything.” 

“Damn,” he says. “That’s… daring.” 

Betty gives him her second attempt at a withering look, picking up the sharpest pencil on her desk. “I will throw this at you,” she says, but he only grins. “I meant that I’m not going.” 

“Not going?” he echoes. “To the dance you’re basically single-handedly organizing?” 

She shrugs. “It’s the Valentine’s dance. I don’t mind third-wheeling with Archie and Veronica when you’re not around, but I’d rather not do it in a gym full of paper hearts and couples.” 

Jughead uses his feet to push his chair a bit further away from his desk and crosses his arms loosely. “How do you know I won’t be around?” 

Betty smiles. “Maybe because you’ve never attended a single dance?” 

She expects him to volley back some kind of quip, but instead he just looks at her, and there are a few seconds of silence before he says, “Do you want to go?” 

“No,” she says. “Like I said, I don’t want to be Archie and V’s hanger-on. I mean - sure, it would be nice to see the fruits of my labour, especially since I’m the only one who’s actually _doing_ any labour, but it’s - ”

“I mean,” Jughead interrupts, “Do you want to go with me?” 

Betty blinks, so surprised that she’s momentarily struck speechless. 

“The number of high school dances left for you to attend is dwindling, right?” Jughead says, straightening up in his chair and drumming fingers against one of his thighs. “And you put a lot of work into this one. If I’m there, we’ll be third _and_ fourth wheels, so Archie and Ronnie will have their space to be nauseating. And - everything’s been sort of heavy lately, trying to figure out what’s going on with Grundy, and… everything you’ve got going on at home. You should have some fun. You think dances are fun, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says softly, slowly. “I think dances are fun.”

“So…” He swallows. “What do you think?” 

She smiles, and all of a sudden she doesn't care so much about how Ginger can’t tell red and orange streamers apart and the gym might just look like it’s been decorated for Halloween. 

“I think that would be nice,” she says. “Thanks, Juggie.” 

He nods, clears his throat, and says, “Hey, I can take point on the paper this week if your plate is feeling a little too full.”

“Really?” Betty sighs, practically melting with relief. “You’re the best.” 

Jughead tugs his beanie down firmly over his ears. “Just don’t give me any of the details about what you’re up to. I don’t want to be called to testify when you’re on trial for murdering one of Cheryl Blossom’s ex-underlings.” 

She laughs. “Deal,” she says, and he smiles at her before he pulls his chair up to his desk again and starts typing, keys clacking away. 

 

 

Veronica invites Betty to come over and get ready for the dance, but Alice and Hal are adamant about witnessing Jughead pick her up at home, so Betty gets ready alone in her room. She puts on her pink dress, which has a flouncy skirt that makes her feel elegant and cut-outs at the hips that are just a bit daring compared to her usual style, curls her hair, and applies her lipstick, a shade called _cupcake_ , very carefully. When the doorbell rings, she races downstairs. 

Jughead is standing on the stoop in black pants, a white shirt, and a _slightly_ ill-fitting blazer, beneath which Betty thinks she catches a glimpse of suspenders. The smile he gives her is a touch uncertain and he just looks so good that Betty can only stand there and beam at him for a moment. 

“Jughead,” Alice’s voice rings out. She enunciates the syllables of his name with enough sharpness to make Betty wince. “Come inside.” 

They stand in the foyer while Alice conducts her interrogation and Hal glowers in the background. It takes all of Betty’s effort not to clench her hands. 

“Jughead,” Alice begins with a polite smile and that same clipped pronunciation of his name, “would you say that you’re taking my daughter on a date?”

He has the good sense not to look at Betty, and is smart enough not to miss a beat before he says, “No, Mrs. Cooper. We’re going to the dance as friends.” 

“Betty’s curfew is eleven o’clock.”

“Understood.” 

Alice examines him. “I trust you know to drive carefully in this weather?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Cooper.” 

“I trust that you and my daughter won’t be so foolish as to drink any spiked punch?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead says again, as Betty digs her teeth into the inside of her bottom lip. 

“You will behave like a gentleman.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cooper. Of course.” 

Alice studies him for another moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, and then she turns abruptly and snaps, “Hal. Why are you just standing there? Get the camera. Let’s take a picture of the kids.” 

 

 

When they walk into the gym, Betty feels a mixture of relief and achievement, and she exhales slowly, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Somehow, despite the chaos of the last week, things have come together, and the gym actually looks good, full of red, white, and pink decorations, a canopy of streamers and lights overhead. 

“It looks great,” Jughead says, and Betty gives him a skeptical look, but she can’t help her smile. 

“It does, right?” she says, and he gives her elbow a supportive squeeze. 

They find Archie and Veronica eating conversation hearts over by the Valentine’s-themed snack table. Veronica spots them first and says, “Hey!” brightly. She hands Betty a heart. “This one’s for you.” It’s pink and has _BFF_ written on it. 

Archie looks at them with a certain degree of bafflement. “Did you guys come together?”

“Figured the third wheels could unite for the evening,” Jughead says with a casual shrug. “Is there any _real_ food here?” 

Betty frowns at him briefly - food is not the point of a dance - but she’s almost immediately distracted by the look on Veronica’s face. Her dark eyes seem to be engaged in some kind of calculation as they flick from Betty over to Jughead. 

“I love your dress, V,” she says. “Where’d you get it?” 

Veronica’s expression shifts as she looks at Betty’s face, her concentration melting away, an easy warmth taking its place. “In Manhattan,” she says. “It’s a funny story, actually… ”

Betty nods, listening attentively, and pops the candy heart into her mouth. 

 

 

After couples start taking to the dance floor, she sits at a table with Jughead and sips a cup of lukewarm punch that’s been spiked with way too much vodka. The dance is going really smoothly, the decor looks perfect, and she feels almost wistful as she watches her classmates dancing and laughing. After this, there’s spring fling, and then prom, and that’s it: her days of planning school events will come to an end. 

Jughead taps her knee and she looks over at him. “Want to dance?”

She’s distracted, momentarily, by the fact that his tongue is red from candy hearts. “What?”

His smile is fond, but there’s also something nervous about it. “Do you want to dance?” 

“Oh - no, Jug, it’s okay. We don’t have to dance. I know you don’t - ”

“Betts,” he interrupts her. “It’s called a dance. I came prepared to dance.” 

“We don’t have to,” she says again, but he’s already standing, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. 

The DJ is playing a slow song. She sets her hands on Jughead’s shoulders and he sets his hands on her waist, and they dance. A year ago, or even months ago, Betty would have been sure she’d see pigs fly before she saw Jughead dance, but here he is, dancing - dancing with her. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks her, tilting his head so that he can look into her eyes. 

“I’m thinking… that you’re impressive. Most people can’t pull off a beanie and a suit.” She smiles. “What are _you_ thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking that this isn’t so horrible,” he says softly. “This dance thing.” 

Her smile widens. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” she says, and catches the slightest flash of something in his eyes before she continues, “My carefully chosen decorations. My painstakingly hung streamers. My candy table. My meticulously selected DJ. I, Betty Cooper, made Jughead Jones like dances. Maybe I have a future in event planning.” 

“Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “I didn’t say I liked it. I said it wasn’t horrible.” 

“Semantics, Juggie,” she teases, and he shakes his head, but she sees a trace of a smile on his mouth as he looks down at their feet. 

 

 

A couple hours later, when she steps out of a stall in the girls’ washroom, she finds Kevin standing with his back to the washroom door, staring at her. 

“What are you doing?” she asks him on a laugh. She goes to a sink to wash her hands. 

“It’s Jughead,” he says. “Your mystery man is Jughead.” 

Betty freezes with a hand on the soap dispenser. “No, I - ”

“Elizabeth Cooper, do not even start,” he interrupts her, stepping away from the door and walking over to her. “You’ve been looking at him all night like you’re surprised you still have your clothes on.”

That startles her, and her soapy hands slip together, causing a few droplets of water to spray onto her dress. “I have not,” she mumbles. She finishes washing her hands and Kevin hands her a couple sheets of paper towel, looking at her with his eyebrows rasied. 

“Okay, fine,” she says. “Yes. It’s Jughead.” 

“Oh my god. You’re sleeping with Jughead Jones.”

It sounds like a statement, but she knows that it’s a question, too. “Yes, but Kev, it’s not - it’s not what you think.” Off his extremely skeptical look, she adds, “We’re not, like… together. It’s more of a… friends with benefits kind of thing.”

Kevin’s face falls. “Oh, Betty. Oh, no. That’s a good way for people to get very hurt, very quickly.”

“No, it’s okay, Kevin, I promise,” she says sincerely. “We’re friends, we’ve been friends for so long - it works. He’s always checking in with me. I won’t get hurt.” 

He studies her. “And what about Jughead?”

“What about him?” she asks. “He’s… Jughead. He doesn’t want a girlfriend.” 

Kevin sighs. He’s looking at her like he knows something she doesn’t. “Betty… that boy is in love with you.” 

Her mouth falls open and her eyebrows fly up. “Kevin, that’s _crazy_. No, he’s not.” 

But Kevin doesn’t smile. “You’ve been looking at him like you’re ready to jump him and he’s been looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky.” 

“No, he hasn’t.” 

“Betty…” He sighs again and touches her arm. “I’m really happy that you’re having sex - and I’m going to need all the details, ASAP. But you and Jughead have been friends for a really long time, like you said. You need to be careful. If not for yourself, then for him.” 

“He doesn’t like me like that, Kev.”

“Are you - ” He’s interrupted by the arrival of two girls, who stop short in the doorway when they see him. “I was just leaving,” he tells them brightly, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” As he goes, he throws Betty a meaningful look over his shoulder. 

Kevin disappears and the girls start gossiping as they touch up their makeup. Betty stands in front of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. 

 

 

She shoves Kevin’s words into the recesses of her mind and determinedly enjoys the rest of the dance. She sits and talks with her friends. She dances with Jughead a few more times, and doesn’t overanalyze the look on his face or the smile on her own. When her feet get sore in her heels, they sit back down and she tosses cinnamon hearts into the air for him to catch in his mouth. 

Around ten, he asks, “Want to get out of here? Maybe go grab a burger at Pop’s?” 

She nods. She’s done with dancing, Kevin’s already left to go meet his boyfriend, and Archie and Veronica are both a little drunk and are wrapped up together on the dance floor. They won’t be missed. 

They walk out to FP’s truck, enjoying the cool winter air after the humidity of the gym. Jughead opens the passenger door for her and she smiles her thanks, tucking her skirt up underneath herself as she gets in. 

Before he starts the car, she says, “I had a lot of fun tonight.” 

“I had a good time, too, Betts,” he says. His eyes flick over her face for a beat, and he leans across the seat to give her a kiss. 

They never make it to Pop’s. Betty returns his kiss with an open mouth, hands grabbing his lapels, and they spend the next forty-some minutes making out. She tugs off his beanie and sinks her hands into his hair and they just kiss and kiss and kiss, exploring each other’s mouths unhurriedly with their tongues. He gropes her over her dress, and she pushes his blazer off his shoulders, but they kiss without sex as an end goal; they kiss for the sake of kissing. 

She means to put an end to it when the truck's clock reads 10:45, but procrastinates until 10:48, sinking into a few more kisses as he strokes his thumb over her thigh. It’s with a considerable amount of reluctance that she pulls back and says, “I have to get home.” 

Jughead glances at the clock and sighs a sigh that Betty feels in her own chest. “I guess you do,” he says, leaning in for one last kiss. 

As they pull apart, he tucks her hair behind one of her ears and then runs his knuckles gently down her jawline. Betty practically shivers with want as he looks at her, wearing that soft smile of his, the one that only seems to surface when they’re alone, and abruptly she thinks: _oh, my god_. 

Kevin’s right. 

 

tbc.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story continues to completely amaze me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Betty reapplies her lipstick in the truck, puts on her most composed face, and walks into her house to greet her parents, who have - unsurprisingly - waited up for her. She tells them that the dance was nice, that it went off without a hitch, that the decorations looked perfect, and that she’s tired and she’s going to go to bed. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Hal says as she heads for the stairs, and Betty is so deeply angry with him, still, but the sadness in his voice and the sadness in his eyes make her heart twist nonetheless. 

In the privacy of her bedroom, she sits down on her bed and sets to poking around the mess that her mind has become in the last fifteen minutes. Does Jughead really like her _like that_? Is that possible? She supposes it’s reasonable enough that having sex with someone could generate romantic feelings, but that’s the kind of assumption Betty would apply to most people, and Jughead’s not _most people_. He’s Jughead - he’s sardonic and disillusioned and she’s quite certain that the only reason she can read him, emotionally, is because she’s known him since they were four, and his walls weren’t so impenetrable back then. He’s never had a girlfriend, never gone on a date, never even had a _crush_ as far as she knows; he’d never tell her if he did, but maybe he’d tell Archie, and Archie’s terrible with secrets. 

And yet - even as she tries to think about everything logically, there’s evidence that Jughead does like her. He’s called her beautiful more than once; he’s said she’s hot. He climbed a ladder to her bedroom window when he heard she was upset. When they’re alone, he kisses her goodbye. He’s been touching her more lately - her knees, her shoulders, her face. There’s the matter of the oral sex; the two orgasms he gave her last weekend were a choice, not a necessary prerequisite to penetration. He asked her to a dance, he _danced_ with her at said dance. He seems pretty willing to carry on with their current arrangement. And, as much as she’d love to dismiss what Kevin said earlier - Kevin’s an observant person, and he’s rarely wrong. 

This train of thought leads her to the other big question of the night, which is: does _she_ like Jughead? She’s always liked him as a person, as a friend, even in their pre-teen years, when Jughead was sometimes so broody that Archie would get frustrated. She asked him to do this, to sleep with her, because she trusts him wholeheartedly, and because she recognizes that, behind the sarcasm he projects with such force it can be distracting, he’s an objectively good-looking person: tall, thick wavy hair, blue eyes that can pierce, great hands, a surprising amount of muscle. Trust and attraction are pretty big components in liking a person, she supposes, but after that miserable night at the beginning of sophomore year when she’d put herself out there and Archie had totally crushed her, she’d sort of sworn off of high school boys, convinced they were more trouble than they were worth. She hasn’t been thinking of Jughead _that way._

But. She’s enjoying their sexual relationship more than she thought she would; what started as a desire not to arrive at Columbia a virgin has turned, simply, to desire. When she looks at his mouth she wants to kiss it, and she wants him to kiss her in places that aren’t her lips. Kevin said she’d looked like she wanted to jump him, and yes, the sight of Jughead’s long fingers can make her flustered, and yes, when he takes his beanie off and his hair falls into her eyes all her internal organs turn to butterflies, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s his determination to get to the truth about Grundy, it’s his arms tight around her when she cried, it’s the steadiness of his gaze when he looks at her, reassurances and promises in his eyes. It’s that soft, soft smile that causes an ache deep in her chest.

“I like Jughead?” she whispers experimentally into her room. It sounds like a question and it feels like one too, a thought floating freely through her brain, trying to figure out where it might fit, a tight ball of uncertainty in her belly. 

She wants to talk to her sister so badly. She takes out her phone and texts Polly _CALL ME_ , already resigned to the fact that she won’t get a prompt response. She sets an alarm on her phone, takes off her makeup, and puts on her pyjamas. She needs a distraction, so she reads Act IV of _Othello_ until the words blur in front of her tired eyes. 

 

 

She wakes in the morning to Kevin’s arrival in her room. 

“Rise and shine!” he says, sitting down at the end of her bed.

Betty squints at him for a moment and then rubs her eyes, propping herself up on one elbow. She can _feel_ what a mess her hair is. “How did you get my mom to let you in?” she murmurs, not entirely awake. 

“Benefits of being gay. Come on; up, up, up.” He gives her hip an encouraging pat and holds out one of the to-go cups in his hands. “Coffee for you while I spill some tea.” 

She sits up and accepts the cup, feeling a little less apprehensive - if he has something to tell her, then this isn’t about Jughead. 

“You will never believe who my dad arrested last night.” 

Betty pauses with the cup halfway to her mouth, suddenly wide-eyed and completely awake. “Grundy?” she asks eagerly. 

Kevin’s secretive smile turns into a frown. “How did you _know_ that?” 

“Oh, thank god,” Betty sighs, closing her eyes for a beat. 

“Betty. How did you know about Miss Grundy? Or Jennifer, or whatever her name is.” 

“It’s sort of a long story. What’s she been charged with? Oh, god,” she breathes, “Is Trev okay? Did something happen with Trev?”

Kevin stares at her. “ _How_ do you know all of this?”

“Kev,” she says impatiently, staring right back at him, holding her cup so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. 

“Trev’s okay,” he says. “From what I’ve gathered, listening in on my dad’s conversations, it sounds like Grundy made some weird comments and was always touching his hands, adjusting how he was holding his bow or whatever, but it never went further than that.” 

She exhales, immensely relieved, and then sets her cup down on her bedside table, picking up her phone instead. 

“Whoa,” Kevin says, reaching out like he’s going to take it from her. “We can’t tell anyone yet.” 

“I’m just texting Jughead,” she says. “He already knows, too.” She types _grundy arrested and trev okay!!_ and hits send. 

“For the fiftieth time, _how_? How do you guys know?” 

“We’ve been… investigating,” Betty says. “Jughead found an article from the Centreville paper about charges brought up against their music teacher, and he remembered that in Grundy’s teacher profile, she said she used to work there. It seemed like it might be a coincidence, but… it turned out not to be. We went to Centreville last Thursday and looked through their yearbooks. She was in one. As Jennifer Gibson.” She finally takes a sip of her coffee. “We brought it to Weatherbee. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it you sooner, but he kind of swore us to secrecy while your dad did… whatever he did.” 

“Damn,” Kevin says. “So this was all… you?” One of his eyebrows arches just a little - but it’s enough for Betty to know she’s in trouble. “And Jughead. You and Jughead.” 

“That’s not the topic of this conversation,” Betty says. “We’re talking about Miss Grundy. What’s she been charged with?” 

“Identity theft, for now. I don’t know if there’s a way to charge someone for trying to groom a high schooler. My dad’s sure as hell going to try - he’s pretty enraged - but I think it’s a bit of an uphill battle since the charges in Centreville were dropped.” 

Betty nods. “I guess… at least she’s being charged with _something_. And at least she won’t teach at a school again.”

Kevin nods and tips his cup toward her. “All thanks to Betty Cooper.” He smiles slowly. “And her beanie-wearing boyfriend.” 

She narrows her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Fuck buddy?”

She chokes on her coffee, glancing toward her bedroom door. “ _Kevin_ ,” she hisses. 

Her phone beeps, and she rolls her eyes at his overly innocent expression as she reaches for it. Jughead’s text says _good_ , and the message that arrives a couple seconds later reads, _nice work, nancy drew._

She smiles and replies, _you’re the nancy drew here. i’m probably bess._

“Yeah,” Kevin says with obvious sarcasm, “I also grin at my phone like that when I’m texting guys I’m not interested in.” 

Betty sighs. “I can’t… talk about this now,” she says softly. His words from last night are still playing on repeat in the back of her mind ( _that boy is in love with you_ ), and she’s still trying to work through how she feels about them, trying to decide if she wants them to be true. 

There must be something on her face that tells Kevin that their previous conversation got to her, because he doesn’t push. Instead, he crosses his legs, making himself more comfortable on the bed, and says, “ _At least_ tell me about the sex.” 

She shrugs; she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. “It’s…happening?” 

Kevin lets out a long-suffering sigh. “The _details_ , Betty.” 

“I don’t know, Kev,” she says, sliding the edge of her bed sheet between her fingers. “It’s...it’s private.” 

“Give me something,” he pleads. “I know you’re hitting home runs, but what about the bases, have you covered those?”

She nods.

“Which ones?”

“Um. All of them?”

Kevin’s wearing the expression he gets when he’s hearing really good gossip. “Even third?” 

Betty nods again. 

“On whose end?” Kevin asks eagerly. 

“Both.” 

“Oh my god,” he says, pausing after each word. “Betty Cooper. I’m scandalized.” He leans forward. “Was it good? When he - ” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Kevin! I’m not telling you that.” She can feel her cheeks getting hot. 

“It was, wasn’t it? I always thought it would be.” 

“You _always thought_?” she echoes, lifting her own eyebrows. 

He shrugs. “When you’ve got a tongue that quick in conversation, it only makes sense that - ”

“Oh my god,” she says, hiding her face behind her hands. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Kevin asks, a grin in his voice. “Betty Cooper’s _getting some_ ,” he whisper-cheers. 

She separates her fingers enough to peek at him, and the look on his face makes her burst into giggles. On that Saturday morning, with the sun streaming into her room as she blushes at Kevin’s prying questions, with Miss Grundy in police custody and Jughead’s texts lighting up her phone - it's Betty's first moment of true happiness in her own home since her sister walked out at Christmas. 

 

 

Alice isn’t about to let Betty go out for a second night in one weekend, so she doesn’t spend Saturday evening at the trailer. Instead, she bakes banana bread, and then ensconces herself in her room with a couple pieces and a glass of milk. She could work on her essays and lab reports that are due in the coming weeks, but she ends up plucking her well-loved copy of _Song of Solomon_ off her bookshelf instead and curling up in her window seat. 

She’s only ten pages in when Jughead texts her: _hey, do you think emilia’s actually a better character than desdemona?_

She smiles. _hmwk on a saturday night?_

_my other plans cancelled on me._

_only bc of strict parents._

_you didn’t answer my question betts._

Betty shifts against her throw pillows and stretches out her legs. _i’m not writing your essay for you, jones,_ she replies before typing out her actual thoughts on Emilia, and they spend the next few minutes debating Shakespeare. 

Maybe if they were different people, if they were more like Archie or Veronica, one of them would throw a casual line out into the conversation to test the waters, something like _i kind of miss you tonight lol_ , those last three letters included as insurance, in case the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. But they’re more cautious, and generally, they’ve been straight with each other, not dancing around any bushes. 

Unless Kevin is right, and Jughead loves her, and there is something very significant and unspoken between them. But if it’s true (and as far as Betty’s concerned, it’s still an _if_ ), Jughead says nothing, and she’s nowhere near ready to ask _hey so how do you feel about me exactly?_ , so they just keep talking about Shakespeare, the conversation drifting to modern adaptations, and she tries to convince him to watch _She’s the Man._

 

 

On Monday, the school is abuzz with talk about Grundy. Weatherbee calls Betty and Jughead into his office, thanks them for their investigative work and for bringing the problem to his attention, and says they’re free to write about it in the Blue & Gold, as long as they run their article by him before publication. 

At lunch, Archie’s brow is deeply furrowed. “Reggie keeps saying how he’d love to hook up with a teacher that hot, but Trev just seems kind of… freaked out?”

“That’s the appropriate reaction,” Betty huffs. “It’d be statutory rape.”

“Reggie never thinks before he speaks,” Veronica says dismissively. “So, you two have known about this for a while?” she asks, looking intently at Jughead, and then at Betty.

“We’ve... had suspicions for a while,” Betty says. “We only confirmed them last week. I mean - I shouldn’t say _we_ , Jug’s really the one who figured it all out.” 

“I am nothing without my editor,” he says simply. “You can say _we_ , Betts.” 

“Well, hear hear to Betty and Jughead, who got rid of that witch,” Veronica says, holding out her bottle of water. Archie lifts his sports drink and Jughead holds up his soda, quirking an eyebrow at Betty expectantly. She lifts her apple juice, and they all ram their plastic bottles together, Archie making _clink_ ing sound effects.

“I’m just really glad things worked out,” Betty sighs. “I was so worried Weatherbee wouldn’t believe us.” Jughead skims a hand over her back, a comforting gesture, and she throws him a grateful little smile. 

“Of course he believed you, Betty,” Archie says. “You’re… you.” He glances at Jughead. “No offense, man.” 

“Hey, none taken,” Jughead says, smirking. “I’ve got a rep to maintain.” 

Veronica snorts, and at the sight of half-playful scowl Jughead’s face falls into in response, Betty laughs softly, something loosening in her chest. 

 

 

After lunch, when Betty is trading the morning’s textbooks for the ones she’ll need in the afternoon, Veronica materializes by her locker, brown eyes glittering as she leans in close. 

“I’m sorry, did I just see Riverdale’s own Holden Caulfield _rub your back_?” she asks. 

“It’s just - ” Betty bites her lip, feeling cornered. “It was just tough, this whole Grundy thing. We were in it together; we were worried together. That’s all. He knows how stressed out I was, he was just being nice." 

_Oh, please_ is clear all over Veronica’s face, and Betty represses a sigh, preparing herself to be told she’s a horrible liar - but before Veronica can speak, she’s saved by the bell. 

She smiles and says, “Sorry, V!” in her most chipper voice, trying to arrange her features into an apologetic expression as she backs away. “I’ve got Chemistry.”

“ _Yeah,_ you do,” Veronica says pointedly. “This isn’t over, Betty!”

She doesn’t doubt that for a moment, and the minute she’s around a corner, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and texts Kevin a reminder not to spill any of her secrets.

 

 

On Thursday, when Betty doesn’t have Vixens practice, she and Jughead meet after school in the Blue & Gold office to polish the article on Grundy/Gibson. He’d offered to let her write it, but it was his story, and she insisted he tell it. She’s assumed her usual role as his editor, critiquing his word choices and the length of his paragraphs. 

It’s a relief to be truly alone with him. She’s been dodging Veronica’s questions and ignoring the brunette’s expressive eyebrows, but during lunch hour over the past three days she’s felt like she’s under a microscope, Veronica’s eyes narrowed and pinned to her face, like she’s going to reveal something in the way she bites into her sandwich. It’s nice to just _be_ with Jughead, without worrying about her every move, and it’s even nicer when, after she’s spent nearly half an hour leaning over his desk, inspecting the text on his computer, he says, “Here, come here,” and tugs her gently into his lap. 

She leans back against his chest and moves the cursor over the document. “This paragraph just seems choppy to me,” she says. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Compared to everything else, it seems - ” His thumb slips into the space between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. 

“It seems what?” Jughead asks. 

Betty turns her head to look at him, and she manages to breathe, “...overly paratactic,” before she’s kissing him, shifting somewhat clumsily to straddle his lap, tugging his beanie off and pressing her body firmly to his. 

He makes a low sound of approval, both his hands moving up under her shirt. They haven’t kissed since Friday, and somehow those six days feel like a million years. His thumbs trace over the lacy cups of her bra and he mumbles, “This feels fancy,” against her mouth. 

She just arches into his touch in response, kissing him with a bit of ferocity, one arm wrapped around him and her other hand in his hair. 

“Will you wear it on Saturday?” he asks. “So I can see?” His eyes are hazy as he looks at her, but she can see the admiration in them, the _want_ , all of it for her, and as she nods, she shifts back on his lap a bit, onto his thighs. The desk behind her digs into the small of her back, but it helps keep her balanced as she unbuttons and unzips his jeans, stroking him over his boxers. 

“Betty,” he says softly, but she shushes him, leaning in for another kiss. The hockey players were being noisy in the hall earlier, so the door of the office is closed. 

She frees him from his boxers and takes him in her hand, using the grip and speed she now knows that he likes, and he sucks in some air through his teeth. He removes one hand from her shirt to tug at its collar so that he can kiss her neck and her shoulder, his teeth digging into her skin hard enough to make her hand stutter as she gasps. She presses her nose against his temple and pumps her hand just a little faster. The hand that’s still under her shirt moves to clutch her waist. 

When he says, “Betts, I’m - ” she braces one hand against his shoulder and lowers her head, closing her lips around him, figuring the best way to clean up a mess is to avoid making one in the first place. 

Jughead cups her face in one hand and gives her a series of soft kisses when she straightens up, still catching his breath. “You’re too much,” he murmurs. He takes in her twisted shirt, the bruise he left on her collarbone, her wet mouth. It’s like she can feel the look in his eyes between her legs, but when tugs at the zipper of her jeans and says, “Your turn?” she shakes her head. 

“I have editing to do,” she says, trying to make her breathy voice sound authoritative. She gets up off his lap, re-zips her jeans, and rubs briefly at the sore indentation the desk left in her back. 

He looks surprised, but his mouth is slowly forming a grin. “Business before pleasure, huh?”

“Today, at least,” she confirms. 

She can feel the heat of his gaze on her back as she returns to her own desk, and part of her wants to forget about the article and let him lay her down on a desk again, but she’s worried that if he makes her come and then gives her that stupid soft smile, she’ll get loose-lipped about feelings she hasn’t even figured out yet, and that if she does that, it will ruin them - whatever they might be. 

 

 

She’s blowdrying her hair on Friday night, her muscles sore from dancing and jumping, her cheeks sore from smiling non-stop during the game, when Polly _finally_ calls. 

It’s lucky that Betty even notices - her hairdryer is noisy, and it’s only because her phone is close by that she sees the screen light up with her sister’s name. 

“Pol,” she says, clutching the phone tightly to her warm cheek. 

“Hi, baby sister,” Polly says in the soft, gentle voice that used to comfort Betty after nightmares, and she nearly starts to cry. 

“Polly, where have you _been_?” 

“I’m sorry, Betty,” her sister sighs. “I know I should’ve called sooner. Everything’s just been so crazy.” 

“It’s been crazy here too,” Betty says on a similar sigh, and at the exact same time the Cooper sisters say, “I have so much to tell you.” 

They both laugh, and the ache in Betty’s throat subsides slightly. She moves from her vanity to her bed, laying down across it horizontally with her legs dangling over the edge. 

“You go first,” Polly says. 

“No, you,” Betty says with a smile, eager to hear her sister’s voice, to hear what’s been going on with Polly. 

“Okay,” Polly says, and then pauses. “Well… ” There’s another pause and an audible deep breath. “I’m pregnant.” 

Betty sits straight up. “ _What?_ ”

 

 

tbc.


	11. Chapter 11

Betty’s still reeling from her conversation with her sister when she arrives at the trailer on Saturday evening. She’d had to summon all her fortitude in order to get up at a reasonable hour, make a fruit salad at lunchtime, and complete assignments for two classes at the dining room table, all while smiling sweetly at her parents so that they wouldn’t hesitate any more than usual about letting her “go to Veronica’s” for a few hours. 

She gets to Sunnyside a little earlier than usual, at about twenty to eight, since she couldn’t stand to spend another moment at home. She knocks tentatively, hoping it’s okay that she’s arrived ahead of schedule. 

Jughead opens the door in jeans and a ribbed white tank, his cautious expression morphing into an easy smile at the sight of her, and Betty feels like she could melt into a puddle right there, and also like she could cry; like she wants to tear his clothes off but also like she needs him to hug her for about two hours. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping aside to let her in, “I wasn’t expecting you for a few.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry - is it okay that I’m a little early?” 

“Of course.” He rubs at his hair, which Betty now realizes is damp. She can feel him watching her when she bends to take off her boots. “Do you want to - ”

She straightens up and blurts, “My sister is pregnant.” 

“Well… shit,” he says, clearly taken aback. “That’s a twist.” 

Betty shakes her head, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “It’s only the beginning.” 

Jughead steps closer to her and presses a hand against the small of her back, guiding her toward the couch. “Here, come sit down.” 

They sit close together, thighs touching, and neither of them attempts to change their close proximity. “She called me last night,” Betty says, “and it was just this total... onslaught of information. She’s - ”

He slips an arm around her and rubs her upper arm. “Start from the beginning,” he prompts gently, his eyes steady on her face. 

Betty sighs. “So she’s engaged, right? To Jason. That’s why my parents are completely losing it. And it turns out that the Blossoms are _also_ losing it, they think Polly’s not good enough for Jason or something. _But_ , apparently Nana Blossom loves Polly and totally supports their relationship, _however_ \- ” She heaves another sigh; everything seems so convoluted. “Nana Blossom is really religious, so Polly and Jason had to tell her that they already got married before they could tell her about the baby, and they have to keep up that lie so that she’ll keep supporting them financially, so… now they need to elope. Polly wants me to come to Boston as soon as possible for their wedding, and of course I want to go, of _course_ I want to be there, but what could I possibly tell my mother? She definitely won’t let me go see Polly, and the odds of her letting me go on any other made-up trip on my own are slim to none. I don't know what to do."

There are a few moments of silence while Betty stares hopelessly at the floor, feeling overwhelmed, and then Jughead squeezes her shoulder and says, “You ever think about writing a memoir?” 

“Juggie,” she half-huffs, half-laughs, giving him an unimpressed look. 

“That’s a lot,” he says, more seriously. “At least your sister’s got the Blossom matriarch on her side, though, right?” 

“It’s good that she and Jason aren’t going to have to drop out of college,” Betty agrees. “And it’s good that I’m not the only one who thinks there’s nothing wrong with their relationship. But everything else is so - I don’t understand how we got to this place. Am I really going to miss my only sister’s wedding?” 

“No. Of course not. You’ll figure something out. You always do, Betts. You’re a force of nature.”

“I don’t know about that,” she says doubtfully. 

“I do.” 

Her eyes travel over his face, absorbing his crooked half-smile and the earnestness in his eyes. “That’s sweet of you to say, Jug.” 

“I’m not buttering you up or anything, it’s just true. You’ll figure it out. And I’ll help, if you want.” 

“Thanks, Juggie.” 

He shrugs like her sincerity’s made him uncomfortable. “You want to watch a movie?” 

“I thought we were going to…” She trails off, lifting one eyebrow. 

“You’re worried about Polly; you've had a rough couple days. We don’t have to do anything.” 

In a true friends with benefits relationship, she suspects people leave when sex is taken off the table - but she and Jughead were friends before the benefits came into play, and Betty can’t imagine choosing to leave her current position, pressed against his left side, in favour of going home. She says, “Okay. Let’s watch a movie.” 

Jughead goes to retrieve his laptop and then settles in next to her again, setting the computer on the coffee table. “I use the Andrews’ Netflix account,” he says. “So don’t judge me based on the movie suggestions.” 

She laughs softly. “I promise not to.” 

After only a couple minutes of debate, they settle on _True Grit_. Betty curls her legs up on the sofa and leans against Jughead. He reaches over and flicks off the lamp. 

They watch about half an hour of the movie, Jughead hand settled against the dip in Betty’s waist, her cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. She turns her face to drop a kiss against the skin that’s exposed by his tank top, a wordless thank-you for this quiet moment, for his kindness. In response, he wraps her ponytail gently around his hand, giving it a tug to pull her head back slightly, tipping her chin up. Betty looks at him for a beat, his eyes shining in the semi-darkness. They lean in at the same time to kiss. 

She slides a hand beneath his shirt, enjoying the warmth of his skin, as they kiss slowly and deeply. His hand slips under her dress, moving slowly up one of her thighs. Eventually, between kisses, his fingers plucking gently at the material of her tights, he murmurs, “Can you take these off?” 

Without hesitation, she shifts, lifting her hips and wiggling out of her tights, leaving them crumpled on the floor. Jughead loops an arm around her waist and hauls her closer to him, spreading his legs apart so that she can sit between them, her back to his chest.

“What’re you - ” she breathes, but her sentence goes unfinished when he shushes her softly and says, “Watch the movie, Betts.” 

She pins her eyes on the laptop’s screen, and he puts his hand back under her dress and strokes her over her panties, agonizingly slow, light touches until her hips finally buck impatiently and she feels his smirk against the side of her neck as he slips his fingers into her underwear. He keeps teasing her, touching her unhurriedly, and it’s only when she blows out a frustrated breath that he finally touches her clit, rubbing slow circles. 

Betty lets out a soft little sound that’s pleased and needy all at once and turns her upper body to kiss him. He kisses her back for just a moment and then nudges his nose against hers and repeats, “Watch the movie.” 

She tries to, staring at the screen but not absorbing any of the plot as he brings her close and then backs off, not once but twice, and she’s embarrassingly wet, practically panting, her body wound up tight with tension and her legs spread wide and she breathes, “Juggie,” with unmistakable desperation in her voice, her fingers clamping down around his wrist. 

He’s hard against her back and his breathing is nearly as laboured as hers, his voice rough when he asks, “What’s the magic word, Betts?” 

Maybe it would be funny if she wasn’t so damn _close_ , but she is, and she whispers, “Fuck you,” which makes his lips spread in a grin against the curve of her neck, and then he’s running his tongue over the shell of her ear and she’s gasping, “ _Please,_ ”, and he builds her up to the peak of her orgasm again and lets her fall over the edge this time, her back arching and her head falling back against her shoulder, his name slipping out of her mouth. 

Slumping against him, boneless, she closes her eyes as he takes his hand out of her underwear, but they fly open again when she hears a soft, wet sound. When she turns to him he’s got his middle finger in his mouth, idly licking it clean; the sight makes her suck in a ragged breath and she says, “Get a condom.” 

 

 

They have sex on the couch, the movie still playing, both of them so impatient that Betty never takes her dress off and Jughead only shoves his jeans and boxers down to his knees before he’s inside of her, fucking her harder than he ever has before, her head pressing against the arm of the couch almost hard enough to hurt, and for the very first time he gets her off during sex, his hand moving between their bodies. As soon as she lets out a quiet cry, clenching around him, he’s gone too, coming with a groan of “Betts,” and his mouth forming soft curses against her cheek. 

Maybe it’s how intense it feels, coming together like that, or maybe it’s how spent she feels after two orgasms in quick succession, or maybe it’s just _everything_ that’s been happening lately, but afterward, once Jughead’s gotten up to throw away the condom and then returned to the couch, curling his body around hers comfortably, Betty finds that her eyes are damp. She looks at the laptop through a haze of tears, blinking slowly until they’re gone. Jughead’s arm is a warm weight around her, his breathing sleepy and steady. 

“Jug?” she murmurs. 

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding just a touch bleary. 

“Kevin… knows,” she says. “About you and me. He figured it out at the dance and he sort of cornered me and I didn’t want to lie.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound upset.

“And Veronica… she basically knows too. I’ve been avoiding her but I can’t keep doing it forever. I just - I don’t know what to say, when I finally talk to her. When I told Kevin we were… you know, friends with benefits, I guess, he was - ” She bites her lip for a beat. “Concerned. He was concerned. And I don’t want V to feel the same way about it, she’ll probably try and stage an intervention or something.” 

She doesn’t exactly know what she wants from Jughead, answers or solutions or some other kind of clarity, but what he says is, “Well… you could tell her we’re dating.” There’s a pregnant pause, during which they’re both totally still, and then he adds, “That’s a pretty vague term, so it’s… applicable.” 

Betty rolls over in his hold so that she’s facing him, the two of them pressed tightly together on the couch. The butterflies that have been residing in her stomach for the past several weeks move up into her throat, causing nausea, but she forces herself to say, “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?” 

Several things flicker through his eyes, none of which she can identify. “A label’s just a word, right?” he says. The lightness in his voice sounds forced. 

“Right,” Betty says, though in truth she has no idea what he means, and the butterflies that have migrated to her throat seem to flutter their wings violently in protest at his non-answer. 

Jughead presses a kiss to her forehead, lips lingering against her skin, and she lets her eyes fall shut as she swallows the butterflies down. 

 

 

She stays late after River Vixens practice on Tuesday, sitting down on one of the benches in the locker room after she’s showered to wait for Veronica, who always dries her hair after her shower and is, consequently, usually the last one to leave. Betty takes a book out of her backpack and reads a few pages, trying to ignore the anxious pace at which her heart is beating. 

Veronica, being Veronica, knows exactly what it means when she returns to the locker bank and finds Betty waiting for her. She’s still not dressed, covered only by a fluffy purple towel knotted under one armpit, but she sits down on the bench, face lit up, and says, “ _Spill._ ” 

Betty bookmarks her page, puts her book back in her bag, and tightens her ponytail. When she can’t procrastinate any longer, she admits, her words careful and even, “Jughead and I are… sort of dating? We’re seeing each other. Like… physically.” 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Veronica squeals. “And also, _swoon_. B!” She takes one of Betty’s hands in both of her own. “I knew something was going on when you guys showed up at the dance together, and then when he rubbed your back - it was so obvious. Why didn’t you tell me you liked him?” 

“I don’t know,” Betty says. The fingers of the hand Veronica’s not holding start to curl inward, and she forces them to stay straight. “I don’t know that I like him, exactly.” Veronica’s brow furrows but Betty forges on, “We’re just… we’re kind of in the middle of something. That’s why I haven’t said anything. I’m still figuring out how I feel.” 

Veronica tilts her head. “When you say that you’re _seeing each other physically_ , you mean… ?”

“We’ve having sex,” she says softly. 

“Betty, _oh my god_. How have you not told me about this? And how are you sleeping with him when you don’t even know if you like him?” 

“I do like him, I just don’t know how… romantic it is.” She chews her bottom lip for a beat. “When I talk about it, it starts to feel so complicated.” 

“I find it hard to imagine you having sex with a guy you have no romantic feelings for,” Veronica says gently. "He's - he's the first, right? Oh my god," she says yet again, like this is a newly startling piece of information. "You lost your virginity to Jughead." 

Betty nods. “That’s kind of how it started,” she confesses, realizing now that she can’t get away with an abridged version of the truth. “I wanted to lose my virginity. I asked him.”

Veronica’s eyebrows reach a height that Betty’s quite certain she’s never seen them achieve before. “Why him? Why Jughead?” 

“Because I trust him. Because we’re friends, best friends, really, by a single degree of separation. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and it _was_ a good idea, we’ve - it’s - it’s been good. Only now… ”

“Oh, honey,” Veronica says in that soft, understanding way of hers. “Now you like him.” 

Betty shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I like him.” 

“It’s okay if you do, B. I mean, you’re already _boning_ , apparently, which we’re going to need to have a girls’ night to discuss, but even if you ignore that - he _rubbed your back_. In the cafeteria. Where all your friends and anyone in the school could see. Don’t you think that means something?” 

Betty smiles slightly. “I think you might be reading too much into it.” 

“Or maybe you’re not reading closely enough. It seems to me that if you like him… he might just like you back.” Veronica gives her hand a squeeze and then releases it. “I mean, who wouldn’t, right?” she says warmly. 

The wry smile Betty’s been wearing softens. “Thanks, V,” she says, and reaches out to hug Veronica, who smells like fruity shampoo and almond-scented body wash and hugs her back tightly, for which Betty is thankful, because she needs a moment to file away the fact that Veronica, too, thinks Jughead is (potentially) interested in her. 

When they pull apart, Betty adds, “Please don’t tell Archie. I don’t want him to bug Jughead about it.” 

“Consider my lips zipped. I’m glad you told me, B.” 

Betty returns Veronica's smile with one of her own, but it fades fairly quickly. “There’s more, actually.” 

“Oh god,” Veronica says, her eyes widening, “Are you pregnant?” 

“No,” Betty says firmly, and then breathes a sigh. “But my sister is.” 

She fills Veronica in on the latest developments of the absurdist drama it feels like her family is starring in: Polly’s pregnancy, the Blossoms’ anger, her own parents’ continued stubbornness, Nana Blossom’s support, the lie about the wedding, and the actual elopement that needs to take place in the very near future. 

By the end of it she’s sniffling just a little, wringing her hands as she says, “I _have_ to be there, but I don’t know how. I’ve been wracking my brain, and I thought maybe I could say I wanted to go tour Columbia for a weekend - but my mom will insist on coming.” 

Veronica purses her lips thoughtfully. “You know, I have a friend who goes to Columbia. Well, maybe _frenemy_ is a more accurate term.” 

“V, thank you, but my mother won’t let me spend a weekend in New York with you. She’s still convinced you’re going to corrupt me somehow.”

“She’s not wrong,” Veronica teases, and then says more seriously, “This girl - she owes me a favour. We could say she’s a peer mentor that the school’s assigned to you or something, and that she’ll show you around for the weekend. She can even talk to your mom, if Alice wants to call. She’s great with parents.” 

Betty lifts an eyebrow. “She’d do that?” 

“Like I said, she owes me.” Veronica shrugs. “And she’s never been caught at any criminal activity, so if your mother starts searching through police databases, we’re cool.”

“That… might work.” 

“It will,” Veronica says firmly. “You’ll say you’re spending an educational weekend in New York, and we’ll get you to your sister’s wedding. You guys have editing software at the paper, right? If need be, we’ll photoshop you in a picture with Lady Liberty herself.” 

Betty laughs softly. “Okay.”

“It’ll work,” Veronica says confidently, getting to her feet. “Just let me get dressed, and we can go to Pop’s and get milkshakes and nail down specifics, and then - speaking of nailing - you can tell me _all_ the dirty details of your latest escapades,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“There are no _dirty details_ ,” Betty says, already starting to flush. 

Veronica points a finger at her before she takes her clothes out of her locker. “Please. It’s always the quiet ones, Betty Cooper,” she says, and the pink in Betty’s cheeks turns to scarlet red. 

 

 

In the Blue & Gold office the next day, she tells Jughead about Veronica’s plan. She paces the room, thinking through the details, trying to identify any possible kinks as she lays it all out.

“It’s just - my mom’s definitely going to make me call home, and what if she gets the bill and sees that I was making those calls from Boston?” 

Jughead frowns slightly. He’s perched on his desk, looking as thoughtful as she feels. “Hide the bill?” he suggests. 

She sighs. “My parents do online billing.” 

“Do you really think she’ll check?” 

“I don’t know,” Betty says, slowing to a stop. “It seems like the only risk, though, so… maybe it’s just one I have to take. It’s Polly’s wedding.” 

He nods. “If your parents find out, they’ll probably explode, but they can’t change the past. No matter what, you’ll have been at your sister’s wedding.” 

Betty nods, too, takes a deep breath, and says, “I’m doing it.”

“Good,” Jughead offers softly, and it’s not like he needs to say anything, not like she needs his approval, yet that one affirmative word turns out to be exactly what she _does_ need to truly commit to her plan, and she takes her phone out to text Polly. 

Once she’s sent her message, she pockets her phone again. “I told her I’ll come next weekend.”

“It’ll be a shotgun wedding for the ages,” he says lightly, mouth quirking into a brief smile before he adds, “You look tired, Betts.” 

“Thanks,” she says with a touch of sarcasm, frowning. 

“You know what I mean,” he says, straightening from his perch. “You texted me at two-thirty last night; I know you’re not sleeping.” He extends an arm. “Come here.” 

She walks over to him and allows him to wrap her up in a hug, her own arms slipping beneath his and around his back, her hands on his shoulders, holding him close. She breathes in his familiar Jughead smell. 

“You were awake at two-thirty to get my message,” she points out, words muffled against his shirt. 

“Yeah,” he says, “but I don’t want you to catch my insomnia; it’s not an STD.” 

That makes her snort. She turns her face into his neck and lets her eyes close for a moment. He’s right about her terrible sleep schedule lately, and she feels so cozy in his hold that she could almost fall asleep on her feet. 

They pull away from one another slowly. Her hands linger against his sides and he rubs at her back. Betty meets his eyes, admiring how distinctly blue they are, even under the school’s fluorescent lights, revelling in everything she can and cannot read in his irises. Her own eyes flutter closed when his chin dips downward, and a second later his lips are on hers. 

It’s the gentlest, sweetest kiss, and she sighs against his mouth as they pull apart. She’s still holding onto handfuls of his shirt, and she feels his fingers wind their way into her hair. With some effort, she forces her heavy-lidded eyes to meet his, and without thinking, she asks, “Do you want to come with me?” 

 

tbc.


	12. Chapter 12

“Come with you?” Jughead echoes, his gaze sharpening a little, losing the haze of desire. “To Polly’s wedding?” 

Betty blinks, feeling surprised, as if the question hadn’t come out of her own mouth. “Yeah,” she says. She drops her hands from his sides and takes a half-step back; his hand slips out of her hair, skimming over her shoulder briefly before it falls. “I know it’s not exactly a traditional wedding, but it’s still their _wedding_ , and it’s the only one they’ll have until they renew their vows in five or ten years, and - ” She’s rambling now, and she knows it, but she’s powerless to stop herself, “ - and they should have pictures, and you’re the best photographer I know, so you should come, and take pictures for them. And it might be nice to hang out somewhere that’s not here and - oh, and obviously I’ll see if they can pay you; I mean, I assume they can’t pay you a lot, but definitely _something_ , I can ask, or maybe I can - ”

Jughead thankfully puts a stop to her word vomit, tucking his forefinger under her jaw, his thumb resting against her chin. Betty’s talked so much she’s almost breathless and for a moment she’s completely baffled by the gleam in his eyes and the amused smirk he’s wearing. “Sure,” he says simply. “I’ll come with you.” 

“You will?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “You, me, the open road, a covert wedding - sounds like a pretty great adventure.” 

She’s caught her breath now, and the anxious feelings that were gearing up in anticipation of his refusal are sinking back into their dormant positions, and it hits her like a ton of bricks as she absorbs how delighted her nervous babbling seems to make him, how the crinkling skin at the corners of his eyes divulges something she herself has felt before, years ago, when Archie picked her up for the back-to-school dance and said _you look really pretty, Betty_ and a burst of golden-coloured optimism seemed to shoot shivers of expectancy through each of her limbs and tied her stomach up in knots that were begging to be undone and she thought _please, please let this be the moment._

In the few seconds that follow Jughead’s answer, Betty Cooper, straight-A student, Ivy League acceptee, and expert fact-finder, finally learns what her friends have been trying to tell her - he likes her. And as she grins back at him, her smile bright and buoyant, she admits to herself that there's a pretty strong possibility she feels the same way.

 

 

She tells Kevin and Archie about the impulsively-planned wedding at lunch hour, only mildly distracted by the speed at which Jughead, who’s sitting to her left, manages to eat two entire burgers. 

“Wow,” Archie says. He finished his own burger in the time it took Betty to explain, but now he eats his fries a bit more slowly, giving Veronica time to snag a few. He looks slightly confused, which is the expression of his that denotes contemplation. “Your sister and Jason are really getting _married_.” 

The amount of emphasis Archie puts on that word causes Kevin to snort dismissively. “They’ve already been declared persona non grata by their parents, Betty has to concoct an elaborate ruse just to see her own sister, they have to lie to an old lady to keep from being flat broke, and they’re having a baby. Getting married is the least dramatic thing they’ve got going on.”

“I don’t know,” Archie says. “It’s _marriage_.” 

Veronica gives her eyes a theatrical roll that Betty can translate clearly; _boys and commitment issues_ , it says, _so passé._ “They were already engaged,” she reminds her boyfriend. “The wedding’s just been moved up about a year.” She turns to Betty. “Everything’s good to go. Olivia will e-mail you from her Columbia account, and I gave her your house number, your mom’s cell, and the _Register_ ’s number, too. If Alice calls, she knows what to say.”

Betty smiles at her gratefully. “You’re totally saving the day, V. I owe you one.” 

Veronica waves a hand, denying those words, as Kevin says, “Your mom’s letting you drive her car to NYC for the weekend?”

“No,” Betty says. Jughead’s knee bumps against hers under the table and when she glances over she sees that he has four fries left on his plate; he’s asking if she wants any before he inhales them. She gives him a little smile and a minute shake of her head before she tells Kevin, “My mom thinks I’m taking the train.” 

“And you’ll just train to Boston instead?”

“Um… no, actually,” Betty says, peeling her orange. “Jughead’s coming with me. He’s going to drive.” 

Kevin’s face lights up, but before anyone can say anything, Jughead chimes in: “I’m the unofficial wedding photographer.” 

Veronica is beaming, too, and with much more enthusiasm than necessary, she says, “That’s great!”

“ _So_ great,” Kevin agrees, nodding. He peers across Archie to look at Veronica. She regards him in turn, and as they size each other up, they begin to look like two cats that just shared a meal of canary. Betty tries not to visibly cringe, imagining the gossipy conversation they’re going to indulge in. 

Archie’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them; he looks like he thinks they’ve both lost their minds. “Why is it so great?” he asks. 

Veronica looks at him and smiles warmly. “Because Jughead’s such a good photographer,” she says easily. “Don’t you think, babe?” 

“Yeah, really good,” Archie says, a single crease remaining between his brows. “Are they paying you, bro?” 

Jughead opens his mouth to reply, but Kevin’s already snickering, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Oh,” he says, “his work will be rewarded.” 

That sets Veronica off, too. Like Kevin, she covers her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders shake with laughter that she can’t seem to control. 

Jughead busies himself with chugging his soda, and Archie meets Betty’s eyes, bewilderment written all over his face. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with these two?” 

Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she glares and grits out, “No clue,” but that just makes them laugh harder. 

 

 

They’re assigned group work in English class, split up alphabetically by surname, so Jughead, Veronica, and Ethel are all in the same group, while Betty has to attempt to cajole her own group into discussing their assigned scenes enough to produce some semi-thoughtful material to report back to the class. While her classmates stare down at their books like original ideas might just start rising from the pages, she sneaks out her phone and texts Jughead. 

_so sorry about V and K earlier._

She watches as he takes his phone out of his pocket a moment later. Veronica looks immediately over at Betty, sees that she’s holding her own phone, and grins. Betty tries to infuse her annoyed expression with enough heat that Veronica will stop smiling, but it doesn’t work. 

_no worries,_ is Jughead’s reply. Another text comes through a moment later, this one reading, _Veronica already apologized and then said she’d put a hit out on me if I break your heart._

Betty stifles a groan, frowning in Veronica’s direction again before she types, _oh my god SO SORRY._

_it’s ok betts really,_ he writes back, and judging by the half-smile on his face, he means it. She’s looking over at him when she catches her phone lighting up again in her peripheral vision, and she looks back at it, opening another text. 

It reads: _i like when you blush_ , and for the second time that day, pink spots appear on the high points of her cheeks. 

 

 

She decides not to see Jughead on Saturday. The freedoms her parents are willing to give her have their limits, and she needs to stockpile her credits in order to cash them in for next weekend’s trip. 

She shows her parents the e-mail from Olivia after dinner on Friday evening. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever actually meet Olivia, but she’s impressed by her - the education this girl received at Veronica’s old prep school seems to have imparted all the key rules for writing to a specific audience. The e-mail is peppered with exclamation marks and includes a single smiley face. In the paragraph that begins _A little about me…_ Olivia writes that she plays tennis, loves Sunday brunch ( _but only if I’ve burned enough cals that week!!_ ), and that her hero is Joan Didion. She paints herself as Alice Cooper’s dream daughter with just enough ease that it doesn’t seem suspicious. 

After showing her parents the e-mail, Betty flounces off to do the dishes and doesn’t approach the topic again until the next night, after she’s helped her mother put together a laborious crockpot meal and done the dishes yet again. 

“Can I go?” she asks. “To New York? Please?” 

“I don’t know, Elizabeth,” Alice says. “We’ve never met this girl.” 

“But she goes to Columbia, Mom. She’s in my program. And she included her number in the e-mail - we can call her.” 

For her entire life, Betty’s had every single one of her permission-seeking conversations with her mother, so it surprises her and Alice equally when Hal says, “I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

Alice’s eyebrows creep toward her hairline at a dangerously slow pace, but Betty jumps on the opportunity, asking, “Really, Daddy?” in her most angelic tone, just one step away from clasping her hands together, and surely playing the youngest-daughter card is unfair, but so is the fact that he’s cut off her sister. 

He nods and looks at his wife. “It’s one weekend, Alice. She’ll be with this peer mentor. She can phone home each evening.” He drags a hand over her face. “It’s been a tough few months for all of us.” 

“ _Thank you_ , Dad,” Betty says, her voice full of gratitude despite the fact that her hands ball into fists and she thinks, _it doesn’t have to be tough; you made it this tough._

Hal nods again, despite Alice’s displeasure, which is palpable in the air. “I know you’ll be a good girl, honey,” he says. 

Betty bites the inside of her lip until she tastes metal on her tongue. 

 

 

Later that night, when she’s in her room with the lights off and the door shut, pretending to be asleep, she texts Jughead, _the plan is a go_. 

He sends a thumbs-up emoji and writes, _i’ll pack my camera and my sunday best,_ to which she responds with a smiley face, and then he says, _i had a thought_. 

_uh oh,_ she replies, smiling as she awaits his answer. 

_the other day at school made me think we should tell archie. especially now that kev and veronica know. he’s our friend. it’s weird he’s so out of the loop._

Betty sighs. She knows he’s right. The secrecy has made things feel safe, somehow, like this is something she shares only with Jughead, something she doesn’t need to give to the rest of the world, something all their own. But Kevin knows, Veronica knows, and soon Polly will know. It’s not much of a secret anymore, and Archie is, as Jughead’s pointed out, their mutual best friend. He shouldn’t be the very last person to know. 

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by the arrival of another text from Jughead, which reads, _unless you don’t want to tell him._

Those words make her heart seize, rendering her breathless for an instant, and she feels like she can’t make her fingers move fast enough as she types her reply. _i want to tell him, juggie._

_good._

She waits a couple minutes and then writes, _goodnight jug._ She adds a heart and presses send before she can change her mind. 

He sends a smiley face and a little moon back. _night betts._

 

 

The week passes by fairly quickly. Betty acts the part of the good daughter at home, aces her calculus quiz at school, and spends her free time in the Blue & Gold office with Jughead. Since their Grundy exposé, more of their classmates are actually reading the paper, which is exciting, given that it’s Betty’s dream come true for the pet project she began in sophomore year, but it's also a bit daunting. They’ve never had a readership this extensive before, and they’re trying to strike a balance between the content they’re invested and the content their peers are more interested in. 

It’s a fun challenge, though - Betty draws brainstorming clouds on the office’s sole chalkboard and Jughead starts a spreadsheet. She laughs when he uses his ‘jock’ voice, adding the word _brah_ to every sentence, as he narrates pieces he think the football team will want to read. They send e-mails to recent grad and runaway music success Josie McCoy, asking to interview her and her Pussycats. Jughead gently talks Betty down from her impulsive desire to investigate the underbelly of the maple syrup industry. 

And in between it all they touch each other in different ways, ways that aren’t presumptive or expectant; soft, simple touches that are significant in their own right, that mean something outside of sex. Jughead balances himself with a hand against her hip when he leans across her to point to something on the board. She touches his arm when he makes her giggle, puts a hand on his thigh when she wants to interrupt him. Under desks, their feet brush and bump together. 

Betty begins to feel like she knows his body as well as she knows her own. It’s a powerful feeling, and her desire to name it is every bit as strong as her wish to evade its definition. 

 

 

On Friday, her father picks her up from school after fourth period. Her suitcase is already in the trunk of the car. Hal drives her to the train station, a quaint brick building just outside of town, carries her suitcase inside, and buys her a round-trip ticket to and from Grand Central, an action so wasteful it probably would have caused paralyzing guilt in last year’s Betty Cooper, but this year’s new and improved version merely slides the tickets into her wallet with a smile. When she gets back, she’ll give Dr. Martin the Coles Notes version of this trip, and she’ll let her therapist help her work out how much compunction she should be experiencing. 

For now, she merely says, “You don’t have to wait with me, Daddy,” and accepts the kiss her father presses to her forehead. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, sweetheart, hm?” he says lightly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Betty keeps her lips pressed together and doesn’t reveal that she intends to do exactly all the things he refuses to do himself. 

She waits two minutes after his car has pulled out of the parking lot and then texts Jughead: _ok_. A couple moments later, FP’s truck makes a sharp turn into the lot and brakes abruptly in front of the station’s doors. Jughead leans over and swings the passenger door open, and it feels almost like a movie as Betty grins, hoisting her suitcase up and jogging down the steps, clambering into the truck. The second her door is shut, Jughead puts his foot to the gas, and they squeal out of the lot, leaving Riverdale behind. 

 

 

“So, how’s freedom tasting, Miss Cooper?” Jughead asks as they merge onto the highway. “I brought some smelling salts in case you begin to swoon.” 

“Oh, ha ha,” Betty says, as if she can’t feel the thrum of her heart in her chest. 

He hands her his phone, which is plugged into the stereo with an aux cord. “You can have first pick for the tunes.” 

She smiles, accepting the phone and browsing through his music library curiously. She settles on The Black Keys and puts on “Lonely Boy,” responding to the look Jughead slides her way with wide, innocent eyes. 

“It was really nice of your dad to let you take the truck,” she says, her words just a touch louder than the lyrics that declare _your daddy left you and I should’ve done you just the same_. 

“I didn’t exactly ask,” he says, drumming fingers against the steering wheel. “He shouldn’t be driving - I imagine his BAC is almost always above the limit.” He switches lanes. “I doubt he’ll notice the truck is gone.” 

“Jug,” Betty says quietly, strongly suspecting that the truck is a metaphor for the boy sitting to her left. “He’ll notice.” 

He shrugs. 

She sighs, flexing her fingers to keep them from curling inward, and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m here, you know,” she says. “If you want to talk about it.” 

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s okay, Betts.” He’s silent for a moment and so is she, waiting to see if he’ll say something more. He glances over at her and she can see something fragile in his eyes, some part of him laid bare, something she wants to hold for him in careful, tender hands. “Some other time,” he finally says. 

She nods. 

They’re quiet then. The song has changed ( _someone said true love was dead, and I’m bound to fall, bound to fall, for you_ ). Jughead reaches over and squeezes her knee, and Betty skims her thumb very gently over his knuckles. 

 

tbc.


	13. Chapter 13

The drive to Boston takes about seven hours with stops and traffic factored in. They leave around one-thirty and arrive at almost eight o’clock. Betty packed carrot sticks and banana chips, but they pull into a rest stop around four-thirty to buy dinner. As they stand in line for pitas, Jughead slides both arms around Betty’s waist and she lets herself lean into him, enjoying his warmth, and smiles faintly when he presses a kiss to her temple. These are the things she used to long for when she imagined all the freedoms her future could hold: being miles and miles away from her claustrophobic hometown, far from the high school gossip mill whose favourite topics somehow always reach her mother’s ears, enveloped in the arms of a guy she likes, getting extra ranch sauce on her veggie pita. 

Jughead drives the entire way. They alternate between conversation and companionable silence, and they trade off on picking the music. They reminisce, remembering each other’s childhood habits and falling into a fit of laughter over the fact that four-year-old Archie’s hands were _always_ sticky, somehow. They talk vaguely about the future, about how they’re both ready to leave Riverdale, about how strange it will be, come September, to be somewhere else with other people, rather than with the same kids they’ve attended school with since kindergarten. They talk about Polly and Jason’s wedding; Jughead says he doesn’t believe in marriage and when Betty says _don’t you want your significant other to be able to visit you in the ICU?_ he says _jeez, Cooper, what horrible disease do I have in this scenario?_ and she rolls her eyes and lets it drop. She falls asleep for half an hour and apologizes profusely for being a terrible co-pilot, but Jughead says it’s fine, one hand steady on the wheel, the planes of his face smoothed into something resembling relaxation. 

 

 

When they finally pull into the parking lot of Polly’s condominium, Betty’s sleepiness has vanished entirely, replaced by nervousness and tension. Her heart isn’t beating fast but _hard_ ; she can hear her pulse in her ears as she texts her sister to say that they’ve arrived. She can sense that Jughead’s watching her, but he stays quiet as he pulls into a parking space. 

Betty steps out of the truck and looks at the building. A moment later, a door opens and Polly comes rushing outside, Jason a few paces behind her. Betty’s feet seem to move of their own accord, and all of a sudden she’s running across the lot to meet Polly in the middle, their bodies colliding as they clutch each other in a desperately tight hug. Polly’s already crying, and that’s all it takes for tears to start slipping down Betty’s cheeks too. They hold on to each other for a long time. Polly still smells like her favourite perfume, still has silky-shiny hair that brushes against Betty’s cheeks as she sniffles into her sister’s shoulder. 

Polly’s coat is open, and when Betty’s tears subside she registers the slight roundness of her sister’s stomach as it presses against her own midsection. She pulls back just enough to put a tentative hand to her sister’s baby bump, breathing, “Polly, oh my god,” months and months of feeling poured into those four words. 

“I know,” Polly says, touching Betty’s cheek softly before tugging her back into another hug. 

Betty swipes fingers under her eyes as they pull apart, and Polly, who’s doing the same, looks past her shoulder, surprise registering on her face. 

“Jughead,” she says. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he replies, lifting a hand in a wave. 

“Oh… surprise,” Betty says weakly, offering her sister a half-smile. “I know you’re doing it at a courthouse, but your wedding is your wedding and I thought you should have pictures. Jughead’s the best photographer I know.” 

Polly smiles back at her, reaching over to take Betty’s hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s really sweet of you to come, Jughead. Thank you.” 

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Jason says. Betty glances over at him, having momentarily forgotten he was there. 

“No problem,” Jughead says in what strikes Betty as a forcefully neutral tone, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “ _Man._ ”

Betty’s brow furrows slightly, and she turns toward Jughead, but before she can attempt to telepathically ask him if everything’s okay, Jason is stepping forward to give her a hug. She hugs him back automatically, though it feels very strange. Her parents never approved of Polly’s relationship with Jason, so Betty saw him very rarely; she thinks they’ve probably exchanged around fifty words in all the time they’ve known each other. He might be on the verge of becoming her family, but it’s still a big jump from _hey, Mini Cooper, do you know where your sister is?_ to a solid, unhurried hug in a parking lot. 

“I’m so glad you were able to come.” He releases her. “It means a lot to both of us.” 

Betty nods, offering him a little smile. “It means a lot to me, too.” 

“Come inside,” Polly says, gesturing toward the building. “It’s cold out here.” 

She and Jason lead the way, Betty and Jughead falling into step behind them. She looks over at him with an expression that’s meant to ask _what’s up; are you okay?_ and finds that he’s got a question on his own face, one she interprets as _are you okay; are you happy?_ The corners of his mouth turn upward and Betty lets out a breath through her nose that could almost be a laugh, and it’s a silent agreement that they’ll talk later. She stands close to him as they wait for the elevator, answering her sister’s questions about traffic on the highway. 

 

 

Polly and Jason live on the eighteenth floor; the shiny golden plaque on their door reads _Suite 1802_. As they approach it, the door of Suite 1801 swings open, and suddenly Cheryl is in front of them, wearing cigarette pants, a red sweater that’s undoubtedly designer, and her signature spider brooch. 

“Well, well,” she says, practically posing, one arm stretched up along the doorframe, opposite hip jutting out, “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

“Cheryl,” Polly chides with a certain amount of fondness in her voice, and all Betty can think is _of course she lives next door._

She hasn’t seen Cheryl since her sister’s graduation, but she recognizes the calculating look in the redhead’s eyes all too well as Cheryl steps into the hallway, looking Jughead up and down. “Jughead Jones the third,” she says. “What _are_ you doing here?” 

“He’s here as Betty’s guest,” Jason says. “And our wedding photographer. Come on in, guys,” he says, waving them into the apartment. 

“Wedding photographer?” Cheryl echoes, following them in. 

“He’s very talented,” Betty says, her fingers twitching. Being around Cheryl makes her feel like she should be holding pom-poms. 

“How interesting,” Cheryl says, making herself comfortable on the sofa. 

“Are you guys hungry?” Polly asks. 

“Yes,” Betty says. She’s not, but she knows without having to ask that there’s no way Jughead’s still full from dinner. 

“Ice cream?” Polly offers. “My cravings are out of control; we have about six kinds.” 

Betty smiles at her. “That sounds great. I can help you serve.” 

“No, you girls sit,” Jason says. “I can get it.” He heads toward the kitchen, Polly’s eyes following him, her face aglow. “You have to try this caramel swirl stuff we got, it’s incredible.” 

Polly sits down on the couch and tugs Betty down next to her; Jughead settles into an armchair. He’s not exactly smiling but he looks fairly content, so Betty allows herself to focus on her sister. As they look at each other, she can tell that Polly doesn’t know where to begin, either. So much is happening. Polly is getting married, Polly’s going to be a _mom_ , their parents are acting crazier than they ever have before - and that’s only the beginning. There are so many other things to talk about, including the boy with a beanie pulled over his hair who’s currently trying not to look too incongruous in Polly’s cream-and-powder-blue living room. 

“So, Cheryl,” Jughead says with a sigh. “How’s Harvard? Decimated anyone’s hopes and dreams yet?” 

Betty’s surprised that he’s speaking to Cheryl of his own free will, and she’s about to turn to him and ask if he’s been body-snatched, but then she realizes that he’s trying to give her a chance to catch up with her sister without Cheryl hanging on their every word. She makes a mental note to thank him later and capitalizes on the opportunity, taking both of Polly’s hands in her own. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks. 

“Good,” Polly says. “Not too nauseous anymore. These days I’m just so tired, it’s like - oh,” she interrupts herself. “The hotel.” 

Betty blinks at her. “What?” 

“The hotel you’re staying at - I should call them. I didn’t know Jughead was coming, so we only booked one room. I'll call and see if they have another available.” 

Betty opens her mouth, but no words come out. Polly releases Betty’s hands and moves like she’s going to get up, but before she can get far, Cheryl reaches out and places her hand on Polly’s arm, her oxblood-red manicure standing out sharply against Polly’s lavender sweater. Even as she’d been narrating her college experience to Jughead, she had, of course, managed to listen. 

“Pollykins,” she says. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

Polly looks at her, confused, and Cheryl looks from Betty to Jughead and back again, one eyebrow lifted pointedly. After a beat, Polly’s head snaps back toward Betty, her mouth slightly open, and Betty lets her bashful shrug and the blush creeping over her cheeks speak for themselves. 

For the very first time in her life, she’s grateful for Cheryl Blossom. 

 

 

After a couple hours of catching up, the conversation focused primarily on the goings-on at Riverdale High, classes and extracurriculars and new friends made at Harvard, and baby-related topics, Betty agrees to return the next morning to get ready with her sister and Cheryl, and then she and Jughead head back to the parking lot and get into the truck again, armed with the hotel’s address to plug in to Google maps. 

They both slump back against the truck’s seat and breathe tired sighs. Jughead makes no move to put the key in the ignition. 

Not looking at him, Betty says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell Polly you were coming.” 

“It honestly troubles me more that you didn’t tell me Cheryl would be here.” 

She turns her head toward him. “Her twin is getting married.” 

He rubs a hand over his face. “They’re so strange. Don’t you feel like they belong in a Brontë novel? I mean, I know your sister’s marrying him, but - ”

“I get it, Jug,” she says on a soft laugh. “I can’t believe they live right next to each other. But at the same time I’m totally unsurprised.” 

“Yeah.” He looks over at her. 

The weariness she feels is reflected on his face. He’s probably more tired than she is, really, given that he drove all day and that whatever energy he may have gained from two large bowls of ice cream is probably wearing off. 

“Want to go to the hotel?” she asks softly. 

It isn’t really a question; the whole reason they’re in the truck right now is to head to the hotel. But still - when she says those words, it seems to send a charge into the air between them, a crackle of electricity. 

“Yeah,” Jughead says again as he turns on the truck, his voice nearly as low as the growl of its engine. 

 

 

The hotel room is luxurious, like everything paid for by Blossom money. The bed is covered in a giant white duvet, fuzzy bathrobes are hung behind the door, and there’s a jacuzzi-style tub in the bathroom. Jughead lets out a low whistle at the sight of it all, then drops his bag, flops down on the bed, and eats one of the chocolates left neatly atop the fluffed pillows. 

Betty retreats to the bathroom with her own bag. She washes her face, brushes her teeth, and then calls her parents as she changes into pyjamas, making up stories about the time she’s spent with Olivia and telling them that she’s enjoying the city so far. They don’t seem suspicious, and the conversation only lasts about ten minutes. 

When she steps out of the bathroom, she finds that Jughead’s stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt, his beanie off. He’s stretched out across one side of the bed, and it’s with great reluctance that he hauls himself to his feet, mumbling, “Gotta brush my teeth,” before digging around in his bag and heading to the bathroom. 

While he’s gone, Betty untucks the blankets on the bed and chooses a side at random, climbing under the covers. The duvet is wonderfully both light and warm, and she closes her eyes as she snuggles down beneath it. 

Jughead returns and joins her in the bed, turning off the lamp. Thanks to the thick curtains, the room is very dark when Betty opens her eyes, and it takes a few moments for her vision to adjust to the point where she can sort of make out his face. 

He shifts closer, slinging an arm across her waist. “Tired?” he asks. 

“Very,” she says through a yawn. 

“Me too.” 

Despite her yawning and her heavy eyelids, it hardly even occurs to Betty to say goodnight and go to sleep. This is new territory for them - she never sleeps in his small bed; he’s only spent half of a night in hers - and laying together in a hotel bed feels very _adult_. Sharing a room like this, both their toothbrushes on the bathroom counter, both of their nice outfits hanging in the closet, is so different from driving out to Sunnyside after the sun has set, from sneaking in through windows. They’ve never had this kind of privacy before, this kind of true alone time. 

And Betty is loathe to waste it. 

She shuffles closer to him, and in the darkness, her kiss lands on his jaw. Jughead claims her mouth with his own an instant later, shifting his body on top of hers, shoving aside the sheets, his knee nudging her legs open. He kisses her hungrily, hard between her legs, rubbing against her just right, and she’s so turned on so quickly that she finds herself grinding up against him shamelessly, pulling his hips against hers, longing for more friction. 

He groans against her neck, teeth sinking into her skin, and she puts her hands on either side of his head, pulling him away from her slightly. 

“I have to wear a dress tomorrow,” she says breathlessly. “No hickeys.” 

Jughead kisses her again, his mouth against hers as he says, “Those shorts of yours are unfair.” 

She lets out a laugh, short and surprised; she hadn’t thought there was anything sexy about her pyjamas. “How?” 

“Your legs,” he says, hands sliding along her thighs. 

“My legs?” she repeats as she wraps them around his waist, linking her ankles at his back, just a hint of teasing in her voice. 

He nods and then he shifts them, rolling them over so that he’s the one on his back and Betty’s straddling his lap, her knees pressing into the mattress. He pushes the hem of her shirt up and she tugs it over her head. 

His hands cup her breasts immediately, feeling their weight, and he tweaks her nipple gently before he asks, “Can I turn on a light? It’s so fucking dark in here.” 

“Why?” she asks softly, shyly. 

“So I can see you,” he says simply. 

Betty immediately worries about a million things: stomach rolls, the size of her breasts, cellulite, that one little cluster of moles she hates - 

“Betts,” Jughead says softly. His hands are on her waist now, his thumbs smoothing over her skin. She can feel how hard he is, how he’s straining against his boxers, but he doesn’t try to rush her. 

“It would make you happy?” 

He exhales sharply. “You have no idea.” 

She nods, even though he probably can’t see her do it, and hesitates for one more moment before she takes a deep breath and reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp. 

Jughead squints in the sudden onslaught of light, and then his hands tighten on her waist and he makes a low, throaty sound, sitting up beneath her and putting his mouth on her breasts. His tongue swirls around one of her nipples in a way that nearly makes her pant, her hands gripping his shoulders. He can make her see stars with that tongue between her legs, and now, as he flicks its tip against her nipple, making her writhe, he slips fingers into her damp panties and one of her hands slides into his hair, her grip so strong it _has_ to hurt, and he says, “ _fuck, Betty_ ,” his voice breaking in the middle of her name in a way that undoes her completely. She comes around his fingers, gasping out his name, and he watches her, one hand flat against her back to steady her, murmuring, “that’s it, Betts, yeah,” as she rides out her orgasm. 

Still breathing hard, she moves a hand between them and strokes him over his boxers, but he shakes his head, cupping her cheek in his hand. His fingers are sticky with her. “Let’s just… ”

She nods her consent. He peels off his shirt hastily and they shimmy out of their underwear, kicking it off their ankles. 

“Fuck, condom,” he says, getting up off the bed and rifling around in his bag for a minute before he returns. Betty’s laid down, trying not to feel too self-conscious about her nudity in the lamplight, but when he comes back to the bed he pulls her on top of him again. 

“Yeah?” he asks, rolling the condom on. 

“Okay,” she agrees, and she feels both of a rush of affection toward him and a surge of desire; butterflies fluttering high and lust coiling low in her stomach, all at once. 

She sinks onto him, feeling him fill her, and murmurs, “Oh my god,” bracing one hand against his stomach, the muscles of it tense beneath her fingers. 

“Good?” he asks, his voice raw. 

She moves her hips carefully and gasps. “Good,” she confirms on something close to a whimper, smiling faintly at him. 

At first, she rolls her hips slowly, but soon enough they move together at faster, more desperate pace, chasing pleasure. “So beautiful,” Jughead says quietly, his eyes trailing over her body before he meets her gaze again. With the light on, they can watch each other as they come, and she finds that there’s something so beautiful about _him_ , about the movement of his jaw, the furrow that appears and then disappears between his brows, the look in his eyes - and then she’s distracted, gasping raggedly, falling over the edge with him. 

He props himself up on his elbows and she leans down for a kiss, their mouths meeting lazily, before she gets off of him and they part ways to do their post-coital tasks: Jughead throws out the condom and cracks open a complimentary bottle of water; Betty goes to the bathroom to pee and attempt to tame the mess her hair has become. 

He’s back beneath the blankets when she returns, and he waits for her to get into the bed before turning off the light. They both migrate toward the centre, their heads barely on their separate pillows. She curls up with her face against his sternum, his arm wrapped securely around her. 

She’s asleep in less than a minute. 

 

 

In the morning, Jason picks her up so that Jughead will have the truck to drive to the courthouse later. He’s still in bed when she leaves, though not asleep, hair tousled and a well-worn copy of _East of Eden_ open in his hands. 

She crawls onto the bed to kiss him goodbye. “You can order breakfast and charge it to the room,” she says. “It’s on Jason.” 

He touches her hair, which is still wet from her shower, and gives her a sleepy smile that makes her heart flip. “Got it. I think I’ll need about fifty orders of Belgian waffles and all the bacon they’ve got.” 

She rolls her eyes and says, “Be good,” before she stamps one more kiss against his mouth. 

The drive from the hotel to Jason and Polly’s building isn’t very long, but it’s awkward enough to make time stretch. Jason is the father of Betty’s future niece of nephew; it’s Polly’s love for him that has plunged Betty’s family into heartache and arguments and terrible silence. In a matter of hours, he’ll be her brother-in-law, but she doesn’t really _know_ him. 

“It looks like it will be sunny today,” she says as they sit at a traffic light, unable to bear the uncomfortable quiet any longer. 

He nods, glancing at the sky. “Your sister will be happy.” 

Betty wrings her hands in her lap as they begin to drive again. “You really love her.” 

“I do.” He looks over at her briefly, so that she can take in the seriousness in his eyes. “I’m going to take care of her, Betty, and our baby. I’m going to give them the very best life I can.” 

She has an automatic impulse to protest, to say that Polly doesn’t _need_ to be taken care of, but she forces herself to swallow down those words. Maybe Polly does need someone to take care of her - Betty and her sister are so similar but also so different. She thinks everything through, but her sister doesn’t always do the same. Sometimes Polly just acts, and sometimes it doesn’t quite work out. Her confident jump into her future had turned into a fall - but Jason had been there to catch her. 

He mistakes her thoughtful silence for doubt and says, “I swear, Betty. I’m not the same person I was in high school. Polly makes me want to be better, and when I’m around her, I am. I love her like crazy. I always will.” 

She looks over at him and smiles softly. “That’s good, I - I just want her to be happy.” 

“We’re in total agreement there.” 

Betty nods and turns to look out the window, watching houses and trees and street signs go by. “Jason,” she says after a moment, turning back toward him, “I’m sorry about your parents.” 

For just a second, he looks pained, and then his expression smooths into a neutral kind of happiness again. “Thanks, Mini Cooper.” 

She looks at his hands, clenched tight around the steering wheel, knuckles a stark white against his already-pale skin. She looks at her own hands, curled into fists in her lap - loose fists, but still. 

Maybe everybody needs to be taken care of, sometimes. 

 

 

tbc.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has reached over 1000 kudos, which is _insane_. I don't even know what to say but thank you, truly, and I love you all.

“So,” Polly says as Betty hangs her dress up in the closet. “Jughead.” 

Betty turns to face her sister, who’s sitting on the end of the bed, her face freshly scrubbed and moisturized. Cheryl is completing some sort of primping routine in her own apartment, and her delayed arrival has granted Betty some much-needed quality time with Polly. 

“Yeah,” she says softly, a smile sneaking onto her lips. 

Polly pats the bed, indicating that Betty should join her. “For how long?” 

“I don’t know,” Betty says as she sits down. “What we’re doing didn’t exactly start out as anything…official, but whatever it is, it’s been a couple months now.” 

Polly tilts her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Betty’s shoulders lift in a small shrug. “A lot’s been going on. It was hard to get you on the phone, and I knew how much you were dealing with.” 

“I really am sorry about that,” Polly says, her expression contrite. “I was overwhelmed and afraid - I didn’t know how to talk about things. But even with all my crap going on, I want to know what’s happening in your life, always. I don’t want you to think otherwise.”

“I don’t, Pol,” Betty promises. She sighs. “I guess I didn’t really know how to talk about things, either. _I_ was scared. It felt like - if I didn’t say anything, it felt safe, you know? I was scared that the minute I tried to put words to it, it would become so real. And if it became real… I’d have to start being so honest with myself, but even worse than that, Mom would find out, and she’d disapprove, and she’d be so mad, she’d tell be I’m smarter than this, smarter than boys, she’d - ” She releases another sigh, this one heavier, and suddenly her eyes feel wet. “Sometimes I - I think she’s made me afraid to want anything she didn’t want for me first.”

“Betts,” Polly murmurs, shifting closer and wrapping an arm around Betty’s shoulders. “Betty, I’m sorry. That’s so unfair. She doesn’t get to punish you for her own unfulfilled dreams or for my _rebellion_ , or whatever she wants to call it. It’s not your job to make Mom happy. It’s your job to make you happy.”

“I know,” Betty sniffles. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying on your wedding day.” She gestures to her face. “At least, not this sort of crying.” 

“Shh,” Polly says, pulling Betty closer still. Betty leans her head on Polly’s shoulder and feels her sister’s cheek come to rest against her hair. “I want you to always be able to talk to me, no matter what. I promise I’ll never fall off the grid like that again.” 

“Okay.” 

After a moment Polly straightens up and Betty follows suit. Polly looks into Betty’s face, her eyes serious, and says, “Don’t let her make you afraid. You _are_ smart, and so kind, and so - so deserving of all kinds of amazing things. You’re so close to getting out of there, Betty.” 

For half a second, Betty’s bottom lip trembles. “If they’re mad at us both, are we even a family anymore?” 

The corners of Polly’s mouth turn downward, and she looks away for a moment before breathing in deeply and meeting Betty’s eyes again. “You and I are. Always.” 

Betty nods. “Always,” she agrees. 

They sit there together for a moment, in a silence that’s both comfortable and meaningful, a sense of peace settling over them. It’s like it used to be, Polly and Betty Cooper against the world, forever in each other’s corners. 

Then Polly says, “You like him a lot, huh?” 

_Yes_ sits on Betty’s tongue, but it won’t come out of her mouth. She nods, which makes Polly smile. 

“He likes you, too,” she says in a conspiratorial tone. “I can tell.” 

“You cannot,” Betty says bashfully.

“Of course I can. And I think it’s great. I want you to have someone who looks at you like that. I think it’s kind of romantic, actually. You guys have known each other since the sandbox.” 

“That’s not romantic, Pol.” 

Her sister’s eyebrows tilt in a way that uncannily resembles one of their mother’s shrewd expressions. “You thought it was when you were crushing on Archie.” 

“Shut up,” Betty says, but she’s the one who’s struck speechless. After all, her sister is right. In about two-thirds of the childhood memories she’d once filed under ‘Archie Andrews,’ Jughead is there too, beanie on his small head, sweater hanging off his scrawny shoulders. She rolls her eyes at the satisfied look on Polly’s face and says, firmly, “Enough about me. It’s your day.” 

 

 

Cheryl arrives toting her entire makeup collection, dressed in a glamorous red dress with a strappy back. She and Betty do Polly’s hair together with the help of a YouTube tutorial, and while Betty’s never exactly _liked_ Cheryl, they were once on the same cheerleading squad - they know how to work together. 

Once Polly’s hair is done, Cheryl does their makeup. She makes Polly look fresh-faced and almost ethereal, and when Polly squeezes her hand in a gesture of gratitude, Cheryl says, “I’m happy we’re going to be sisters,” in a soft voice that actually sounds quite genuine. 

She tackles Betty next, and the amount of _stuff_ Cheryl puts on her face is alarming. She’s let Veronica do her makeup plenty of times, and it always makes her feel like she’s wearing four pounds of eyeliner and like her highlight could be seen from space, but the number of products Cheryl keeps layering over Betty’s skin is still comparatively surprising. For one horrifying split second, she thinks Cheryl might be purposefully trying to make her look like a clown, finally exacting revenge for the time Betty didn’t land her front hand-spring at a homecoming game, but when Polly smiles over at her, she figures she must be safe. 

And it turns out that she is. Cheryl finishes carefully applying pink lipstick to Betty’s mouth, straightens up to inspect her work, appears satisfied, and steps aside so that Betty can see herself in Polly’s vanity mirror. 

The girl staring back at her looks incredible, far more beautiful than Betty feels on an average day. Her skin looks perfect, her green eyes pop dramatically, and her mouth looks as pouty as a model’s in a magazine. 

“Cheryl, thank you,” is all she can manage to say. 

Cheryl caps the lipstick; it makes a crisp little clicking sound. “I’d do anything to render Riverdale’s own Ernest Hemingway speechless.” 

“I’d say he’s a little more Faulkner,” Betty replies, not quite able to stop staring at herself. 

Polly laughs, looking to Cheryl for her reaction. The redhead’s mouth curls slowly in the way that so often signals danger, but today her smile leans toward grudging respect rather than cruelty. 

“Touché, Betty Cooper,” she says. “Touché.” 

 

 

Jughead arrives at noon, like Betty had asked him to. He’s wearing what looks like the same outfit he wore to the Valentine’s dance, and it gives her the exact same thrill it had that night, as though she’s never seen him in it before. 

She, on the other hand, looks quite different than she did that February evening, and the look on his face indicates that he’s noticed. His eyes move over her from head to toe, taking in her carefully curled hair, her flawless makeup, and the royal blue dress she’d brought to wear for the occasion. He mouths, rather than says, “ _Fuck._ ” 

“Cheryl did my makeup,” she explains. She touches his collar, toying with it like it needs adjustment, for something to do with her hands. “You look really nice, Juggie.” 

“I look like someone going to a courthouse wedding,” he corrects. “You look like someone going to a movie premiere.” He looks her over again, like the first time wasn’t enough, and rests a hand gently against her hip. “You look gorgeous.” 

She shrugs, his compliment making her shy, and jokes, “We’re not in Riverdale anymore.” 

“No,” he agrees, “we’re not.” He slides his hand around to the small of her back, tugging her a bit closer to him. 

Betty smiles and leans in to brush a quick kiss against his mouth, mindful of her lipstick - but still, she leaves a little smudge of pink against his bottom lip. “Sorry,” she says, rubbing it off with her thumb. “I’d kiss you for real but I think you’d be wearing my lipstick.” 

“Hey, it looks like my colour,” he quips, holding her even closer to him for a moment before he lets her go. 

“Here comes the bride!” Cheryl trills from behind them, holding the bedroom door open so that Polly can walk out. 

Betty gasps softly when she turns around, her hands coming up to cover her mouth and nose for a moment. Polly’s dress is simple and beautiful, ivory-coloured with a seam beneath her breasts that does an effective job of drawing any attention away from her stomach, and Cheryl has placed a short veil in her hair. Despite the hasty, whirlwind way this wedding’s come together, Polly looks exactly the way a bride should, and it makes Betty’s eyes well up. 

“Pol,” she whispers, dropping her hands. “You look perfect.” 

“You _are_ perfect,” Jason says in a voice every bit as reverent as Betty’s, walking across the living room to kiss his soon-to-be-wife. 

Cheryl gives them only a moment and then says, “Alright, save it for the altar,” and begins to shepherd all of them toward the door. 

Betty slips her hand into Jughead’s and leaves it there until they get into the car. 

 

 

It’s unlike any wedding Betty’s been to before, just a bride, a groom, their respective sisters as witnesses, and a boy snapping photos from a few feet away. Polly’s father doesn’t walk her down the aisle; Jason’s mother isn’t there to cry WASPy tears. There are no friends making jokes, no grandparents looking on proudly. It’s so quiet, so simple, and while part of her appreciates that, appreciates the intimacy, another part of her aches. 

But her sister looks happy. Polly is _beaming_ , and crying, and clutching Jason’s hands like he’s the only thing she could ever need. He returns her gaze with a look in his eyes Betty can’t fully decipher, but it’s full of warmth. Polly’s face emanates joy when they’re declared man and wife, and tears slide soundlessly down Betty’s cheeks when they kiss. Even Cheryl has a soft look on her face. 

Jughead continues to take pictures as the newlyweds walk out of the courthouse hand in hand, Betty and Cheryl trailing behind him so as not to ruin any shots. With one hand still holding his camera in front of his face, he digs around in his pocket and pulls out a folded tissue. “Here,” he says, handing it to Betty. 

She takes it, blows her nose, and then asks, “Since when do you carry tissues around?”

“I figured you were a wedding crier,” he says from behind his camera, and she smacks the back of her hand lightly against his chest. 

Cheryl starts following Polly and Jason’s path to the parking lot once Jughead finally lowers his camera. Betty lingers at his side as he inspects the display, looking through his last few photos. 

When he lets the camera rest against his abdomen, held up by the strap around his neck, he says, “There we go. Now your sister can visit Jason if he ever finds himself in the ICU.” 

She slides him a look and finds that he’s smirking at her. She gives her head an exasperated-slash-fond shake, and he puts a hand to the back of her neck, holding her head steady for a moment as he presses a kiss to her temple. 

“It was nice,” he says by her ear, and then they make their way to the parking lot, walking quickly so that the others don’t wonder why they’re taking so long. 

 

 

After the ceremony, they go to an upscale restaurant for food and drinks, though _drinks_ turn into _drink_ , singular: Betty and Jughead are still underage and Jason won’t drink since Polly can’t, so Cheryl shrugs and orders herself a martini, unbothered by drinking alone. 

They order a slew of appetizers to share and engage in conversation that stays light and easy. Jughead shows Polly and Jason some sneak peeks of the photos he took; when Polly sees them she gets so emotional that she hugs him, and Betty has to work very hard to keep from laughing at the mildly panicked look on his face. They talk about the honeymoon the newlyweds intend to take one day, Cheryl listing off all the places in Europe that they simply _have_ to go to. Betty tells Polly and Cheryl all the drama that’s happened within the River Vixens since September while Jason and Jughead occupy themselves with eating.

After a few hours, when the sun is beginning to set, they go to a nearby park to take pictures. Polly worries that she doesn’t look as good as she did earlier in the day, but they all assure her that she does, and Jughead promises that the lighting is perfect. 

Polly and Jason pose in several places for photos as a couple, and then Cheryl and Betty join in, flanking their siblings. Betty conjures up all the genuine happiness she feels and infuses her smile with it, shoving aside the thought that these are pictures she may never be able to show her parents. 

“I think we’re good,” Jughead says when he’s pleased with what he’s got, and Cheryl breaks away from her brother’s side, extending her hand. 

“Let me play photographer,” she says airily. “You get in a couple shots.” 

“Oh,” he says, holding his camera close, almost protectively. “No, I don’t need to - ”

Cheryl gives her eyes an extravagant roll. “Jughead,” she says impatiently. “Go get in a damn picture with your girlfriend. I promise I won’t break your baby.” 

His eyes narrow and he glances at Betty. She shrugs, not sure what he’s made of Cheryl’s use of the g-word, but she nods at him anyway. He’d come all this way, and he looks so cute - she’d like him to be in a picture or two. 

He looks unhappy about it, but he hands the camera to Cheryl and walks over to stand next to Betty. He puts an arm around her waist, and she can feel the tension emanating from him, so she leans into him a little. 

“Smile,” she whispers to him, and it’s his turn to give her an exasperated-slash-fond look, but when Cheryl calls at them to _say Mr. and Mrs. Blossom!_ , he does pull up a small smile, which makes Betty smile in turn, slipping her own arm around him and beneath his blazer, rubbing his back briefly in a way that’s meant to say _thank you_. She can feel him relax into her touch. 

 

 

From the park, they head back to the apartment. Betty follows Polly into the bedroom to help her out of her dress. 

“Do you feel different?” she asks as she carefully undoes hook-and-eye closures. 

“I feel happy,” Polly says, and Betty knows it’s true; she can hear it in her sister’s voice. Polly doesn’t turn around, since Betty’s is now oh-so-slowly tugging down the finicky zipper, but she adds, “I’m so happy you were here, Betty.”

Betty pauses in her task to wrap her arms around her sister. “Me, too.” 

She changes, too, back into her jeans and long-sleeved shirt. When she steps out into the living room, her dress folded over her arm, she finds Jughead and Jason sitting on the couch, both having removed their blazers. They’ve clearly been talking, but they stop when they see her. 

“Heading out?” Jason asks, getting to his feet. 

She nods. “Polly says she’s really tired.” 

“Yeah, the past couple weeks have been tough for her.” He smiles at Betty. “It was really wonderful to have you here today.” 

“It was wonderful,” she agrees. “Congratulations. And… welcome to my messed-up family.” 

His smile widens slightly. “Welcome to mine.” He extends his arms, and their hug today feels significantly less strange. 

“Ready to go?” she asks Jughead after she and her new brother-in-law pull apart.

“Yeah,” he says, standing and grabbing his blazer from the couch. 

“We’ll be back early tomorrow to say goodbye,” Betty tells Jason. 

He nods, and then holds a hand out toward Jughead. “Thanks for today,” he says. 

“Sure,” Jughead says. He shakes Jason’s hand and then tilts his head toward the door, and Betty nods in response to his silent question. She offers Jason a little wave and follows Jughead out. 

“What were you guys talking about?” she asks once they’re in the elevator. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Is it safe to kiss you, now that the festivities are over?” 

She laughs. “Permission granted,” she says teasingly, and she’s got her arms looped around his neck and her tongue in his mouth by the time they reach the ground floor. 

 

 

They swing by McDonald’s on the way back to the hotel because Jughead’s hungry again. While he eats his two burgers and fries, Betty scrubs her face clean of makeup.

She changes in front of him, instead of in the bathroom, feeling only a little self-conscious as she quickly slips out of her clothes and into her pyjamas. He looks at her like he’d been looking at his bag of fast food moments earlier.

In bed, he kisses her and says, “You looked amazing today. You always do, but that dress was…” 

She pulls him on top of her, enjoying the weight and warmth of his body. “You _were_ amazing today.” 

He trails his lips down her body at a lazy pace, pausing to nip and suck at her skin. He helps her out of her pyjama shorts and mouths her over her panties, holding her wrists when she squirms. She whimpers and sighs through waves of pleasure until he finally tugs her underwear down her legs and starts to tease her with his tongue. 

She comes down from her orgasm feeling very sleepy, blissfully sated and tired from the non-stop action of the past few days. She’s sure Jughead wouldn’t mind her returning the favour - it's not even that late yet - but his eyes are heavy-lidded too, and after he kisses her long and slow, letting her taste herself in his mouth, he shifts to lay next to her, breathing a contented sigh. 

Betty shimmies back into her panties, feeling uncomfortable with being half-naked, and then fits her body against his, her back to his chest. He holds her tightly and nuzzles her neck. 

“Jug,” she says softly. It’s the beginning of a sentence that she wants to finish, but the words that will complete it won’t come to her - whatever it is she wants to tell him, her mind shies away from identifying it. He makes a sound to acknowledge her, to show that he’s listening, and she’s at a loss; eventually, she simply says, “Goodnight.” 

“G’night,” he replies. 

She stays awake for a few minutes, trying to force her brain to reach toward the feelings in her heart and her stomach and find the correct terminology, but she’s so tired that it’s a frustrating, fruitless endeavour. She pulls the blankets up to her chin, abandons her efforts, and lets herself sleep. 

 

 

The next morning, they wake up early, both of them making sleepy noises of protest when the alarm goes off. Betty manages to get up first, giving Jughead’s shoulder a little shake before she gets out of bed. 

They plan to get breakfast on the road, so all they have to do is freshen up and pack their things. Betty brushes her teeth, washes her face, and puts on some mascara and lip gloss. When she steps out into the room again, Jughead’s packing his things, and as she watches him try to fold his blazer into his backpack without causing too many wrinkles, she remembers something from the night before. 

“Juggie, what were you and Jason talking about yesterday?” she asks as she walks over to her suitcase to pack her toiletry bag. “You didn’t tell me.” 

“Oh, uh - ” He shrugs and shoves his blazer down into his bag a bit more. “He said he wanted to ‘clear the air’.” He drops the hands that were creating air quotes and shrugs again; he looks uneasy. “He wanted to apologize, basically.” 

“Apologize?” Betty echoes, her nose wrinkling in confusion. 

“Yeah. He and some of his football friends - they were kind of dicks to me, sometimes, at school. It’s not a big deal. Jason just… wanted to say he was sorry about it.” 

Watching his face, it takes her only a moment to understand what he’s really saying: Jason Blossom used to bully him. And here Jughead is, folding up the clothes he wore as one of the three attendees at Jason’s wedding. 

“Why did you come?” she asks quietly; she suddenly feels like such a jerk for inviting him on this trip. She hadn’t known, but maybe she should have. “If he used to be a dick to you - why would you come to his wedding? And take their pictures? For _gas money_ , not even any real compensation?” 

Jughead shrugs once more. “It’s not that big of deal, Betts,” he says, now folding his white button-down, and she hears what he's not saying, hears it loud and clear: _because you asked me to._

Betty stares at him, aware of her wide eyes, the upward tilt of her eyebrows, her slightly parted lips, but she can’t school her expression back into normalcy. Last night’s mission completes itself without any prompting: her head communicates with her heart, and abruptly all the words are there, one of them standing out like a neon sign. 

“Jughead,” she says. Her own voice sounds far away, muted by the rush of her blood in her ears, and her body feels frozen. Gathering her nerve, she asks him, “Do you love me?” 

He looks up. A lock of his hair is falling over one of his eyes, but he goes as statue-still as she is and doesn’t attempt to move it. Between his eyes meeting hers and his mouth starting to move in a reply, it feels as though several minutes pass. “Yeah,” he says. 

It’s such a simple answer that Betty’s lashes flutter in several quick, stunned blinks. “Like… as a friend, you mean,” she says, seeking clarification. 

“Sure,” he says. He lifts a hand and rubs at the back of his neck, his gaze drifting momentarily before it meets hers again. “And as… more.” 

And then he goes back to packing, shoving his Steinbeck novel into his backpack and haphazardly folding a t-shirt like Betty’s not standing there staring at him, reeling. 

After an amount of time she can’t even attempt to measure, he asks, now tugging at the bag’s zipper, “You freaking out?” His tone is mild, maybe even amused, but she can hear the undercurrent of fear there. 

“No,” she says quietly. Her fingers curl inward, but her nails don’t dig into her palms. 

He finally looks up. “No?”

She shakes her head. “Are we… are we together? Not just get-Veronica-off-our-backs dating, but… together?” 

Jughead looks her over for a moment and then says, his voice soft, “I already answered a question, Betts. I think it’s your turn.” 

She figures that’s fair. She forces herself to breathe in deeply, studying the way the blue of his eyes seems to have darkened, and manages to say, “Yes. At least, I want us to be.” 

His lips twitch into a soft, brief smile. “So do I.” 

In an echo of his expression, Betty’s mouth stretches into a grin that fades nearly as quickly as it appears. Her happiness collides with her uncertainty, her nervousness with her hope. She wonders if Jughead’s feeling the same way. 

“You should probably finish packing,” he says, in a voice that’s familiar to her, faux-seriousness layered over teasing. “We’ve got to get on the road.” 

Betty makes a huffy sound, the meaning of which is unclear even to her - it might be a sigh of relief, a laugh, a frustrated noise, or perhaps all three combined. She moves away from her bag, taking a few steps forward, closing the space between them. 

“Juggie,” she says. 

He takes his hands off his own bag and looks at her. For a few seconds, as they stare at each other, Betty’s breath feels shallow in her chest. His smile reappears and she can feel hers do the same, and those smiles seem to solidify, staying in place; when Jughead cups her face in his hands and leans in to kiss her, their teeth bump. It makes her giggle, and he rests his forehead against hers for a beat. She slides her arms around him and her breathing deepens, settles. 

She tilts her chin up, and this time, when their mouths meet, she’s not laughing. 

 

 

tbc.


	15. Chapter 15

Betty’s heart, which is so full when they return to Polly and Jason’s apartment, feels like it’s splintering in her chest by the time they merge onto the highway again. Saying goodbye to her sister is terrible; they hold onto one another with vice-like grips and there are tears. She doesn’t know exactly when she’ll see Polly again. She’ll be in New York come September, and she’ll have freedom then, but that’s six months away. Polly is due in September, and the fact that an entire human being could come into existence between now and the next time she sees her sister makes it feel like an eternity. 

She stares out the window for the first hour or so of the drive, lost in her own thoughts, her eyes damp. Jughead doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even turn on the radio, and Betty wants to say _thank you_ or _you can listen to music_ or _you make me really happy; I’m sorry I look miserable_ , but she’s worried that if she opens her mouth she’ll start to cry in earnest. 

A long while after she’s rested her forehead against the glass, occasionally being lightly jostled against it when they hit a bumpy patch in the road, she feels Jughead’s hand on her leg. His palm is warm even through her jeans as he slides his hand down over her thigh and then squeezes her knee. 

She’s not ready to talk yet, or even to look away from the window, but she sets her hand over top of his, lacing their fingers together. 

 

 

They make it back to Riverdale with time to spare, arriving shortly after three. Betty’s train ticket has her scheduled to arrive in town at four thirty-five. 

“Want to go to Pop’s?” Jughead offers. 

“No, you should probably drop me off,” she says, sinking down in her seat, feeling paranoid that her parents will also be driving around town and will spot her, somehow. “With my luck, my mom will show up half an hour early or something.” 

He nods, taking the turn that will lead him to the station. “I had a good weekend, Betts.” 

She smiles. When she looks over at him she has to glance up because of how far she’s slumped down. “I had an amazing weekend, Jug.” 

His gaze stays focused on the road, but his smile is broad, warm - unstoppable. “Yeah, it was one for the books.” 

“Thank you for coming with me.” 

He shrugs as if to say _don’t mention it_. “Do you think you’ll be allowed out this Saturday night?” 

“Assuming my parents don’t find out about this… I can probably make it happen.” 

Jughead drums his fingers on the steering wheel. She sees his jaw clench for beat. “Maybe, uh - maybe we could do something? Go get a burger or go to a movie? Or both? Or neither.” 

Betty bites her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. “A movie sounds nice,” she says. “Then we’d still have a little time, afterward. To hang out at your place.” 

They stop at a red light and he finally looks at her, his eyes focusing almost immediately on her mouth; she’s biting her lip again, nervous now. “You are very smart, Betty Cooper,” he says, and in his voice she hears a hint of the roughness that can send shivers down her spine. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

“A couple people,” she says, giggling. “So it’s…a date?” 

In her peripheral vision, she sees the light turn green, but he doesn’t start to drive, keeping his eyes on her as he agrees, “It’s a date.”

The car behind them honks.

 

 

At the train station, Jughead parks and gets out of the truck, circling it to come over and give her a hug. “Successful mission,” he says into her hair. “Assuming your mother isn’t, at this very moment, plotting my death.” 

“I’ll miss you so much if she is,” Betty teases, her voice muffled against his jacket. She leaves her arms around him, leaning back just enough to look at his face, and breathes a sigh. She wishes she _could_ go to Pop’s with him, and sit in a booth, drinking a milkshake and feeling both shy and sexy when his gaze zeroes in on her mouth closing around the straw, letting their conversation get silly and flirtatious, going over to his side of the booth under the pretense of sharing a pair of headphones while they listen to a song, leaning against him, feeling his arm curl around her shoulders. 

“What?” he asks her softly, studying her. His arms are still around her, too, folded at the small of her back. 

Just as softly, she says, “Are you my boyfriend? Or - will you be my boyfriend?” She gives her head a little shake and looks down at her feet, loosening her hold on him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say; I’ve never done this before.” 

“Neither have I,” he reminds her. “Honestly, I’ve never wanted to be someone’s boyfriend before, and I have no idea if I’d be any good at it.” 

She huffs out a laugh and looks back up at him. “Juggie, you just drove me to Boston and back in the space of forty-eight hours to go to the wedding of a guy you have legitimate reasons to dislike.” 

“And what does that mean?” he asks, eyes narrowed slightly in thoughtfulness. 

“It means… you’d be a really great boyfriend. If you wanted to be one.”

He nods, looking contemplative. “Let me think about it.” 

“Okay,” she says quickly, nodding perhaps a little too aggressively. “Okay, of course, yeah.” She glances at the ground, unable to look at his face. 

“Betty,” he says a beat later, and now there’s a laugh tucked into his voice; the sound of it makes her lift her gaze and meets his eyes. He’s giving her that soft smile, the one she now understands fully. “Of course I want to be your boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” she breathes, and then smiles, letting out a little laugh before her mouth readjusts itself into the shape of a frown. “Jerk,” she huffs. 

He kisses her frown, and she shifts her weight onto the balls of her feet, stretching up to press herself as close to him as possible. Their kisses deepen quickly, and she can taste a hint of the chocolate bar he ate when they last stopped for gas on his tongue. 

They pull apart very slowly. Betty nudges her nose against his gently before she lets her weight drop back onto her heels. “I wish I didn’t have to go home,” she whispers. 

Jughead’s fingertips skim over her jaw, tracing it like she’s something he wants to memorize. “Me too.”

 

 

She spends the evening telling her parents stories that are ninety-eight percent false, the only kernel of truth within them the fact that she can’t wait to start college. Her friends so often tell her that she’s a bad liar, but her parents don’t seem to think that anything’s amiss. She manages to retreat to her room soon after dinner, claiming exhaustion. 

She’s in bed, nestled in her blankets and in her memory of her conversation with Jughead that morning, which somehow feels like it was forever ago and also like only seconds have passed since it occurred, when he sends her a text. She snakes one hand out from her blanket cocoon to grab her phone. 

_just wanted to say goodnight,_ his message reads. 

It’s strange, how she misses him, as though she won’t see him at school tomorrow. In two nights, it’s as though she got used to having him next to her. 

_goodnight juggie,_ she writes back. 

 

 

In the morning, after she’s shut off her alarm, she squints blearily at her phone to see another text. This one says _good morning_ , followed by a little sun emoji. 

Betty responds and gets up with a smile on her face. She finds herself singing in the shower. 

 

 

At lunch, she recounts the events of the weekend to her friends, listing off all the highlights from the wedding, noting how happy her sister seems, and, of course, letting them in on the unsurprising fact that the Blossom twins live right next to one another. 

Veronica and Kevin offer smiles when she talks about the wedding, and they pounce on any information about Cheryl, but they both keep glancing away from Betty and over at Jughead, waiting for details regarding the only events of the weekend that Betty doesn’t discuss. She feels bad for Archie, who is blissfully unaware, nodding along as she speaks. 

“You’re right,” she tells Jughead after the final bell. She has cheer practice, but he’s hanging out by her locker, keeping her company while she packs up her textbooks before heading to the locker room. “We need to tell him.” 

He nods, and throws his voice into a higher pitch, softly imitating her, “You’re _so_ wise, Jughead. It just makes me swoon.” He sobers when she slides him a look, though there’s still a smile lurking on his lips. “Thursday at Pop’s?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She closes her locker, clicking the lock back into place. 

Jughead glances over his shoulder. The hallway is empty except for the two of them. “Come here,” he murmurs, closing a hand around her elbow and tugging her toward him. She smiles, her eyes flicking over his face before she presses a kiss to his mouth. 

He cups her cheek in his hand, thumb smoothing over her skin, and she sighs against his mouth, overwhelmingly content. 

“I’ve got to go,” she murmurs. 

He maneuvers her gently until her back is pressed against the locker next to her own. “One more minute,” he says, fitting a thigh between her legs, which draws a quiet little gasp out of her throat. 

“Someone will see us,” she protests, even as her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt. 

“Shh,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. 

By the time she finally manages to pull away, it’s definitely been more than a minute. She presses her hand firmly against his chest. “I have to go to practice,” she says. “And I don’t think we should be feeling each other up in the hallway.” 

“What about in my truck?” he asks, his breath a whisper over her skin. He sucks at her pulse point, and in spite of all her best intentions, Betty finds herself grinding down against his thigh, making a sound that’s very quiet but undeniably needy. 

“Juggie,” she says. It comes out as a whine, though she meant it to be a reprimand. 

Now his mouth is on her ear, teeth tugging at its lobe, and when he exhales, tongue skimming over its shell, her whole body seems to quiver. “I want to go down on my girlfriend,” he says quietly, and Betty is just _gone_. 

She doesn’t even bother making up an excuse to text to Veronica, just takes his hand and pulls him out of the hallway, out of the school. 

 

 

_i assume u skipped practice to be with ur boy toy_ , Veronica writes. _i am team #getbettycooperlaid, but if u r gonna skip out on vixens, u AT LEAST owe me deets!_

Betty turns away from her homework, chewing her lip for a second before she replies, _we talked labels. he’s my boyfriend._

_omg B!!!!!!!!! yes!!!!!!!!!!!_

A second later, her phone rings, Veronica’s name appearing on the screen. 

She doesn’t even have time to say hello before Veronica is squealing at her. “Betty, I am _so happy_ for you! I really think this is a good thing. You’re super cute together.”

“Thanks, V,” Betty says, smiling. 

“He really likes you, B. I swear. I can tell.” 

_He told me he loves me, sort of_ , Betty thinks but does not say. “I really like him, too.” 

Veronica squeals again. “Okay, okay, but give me dirt about _today_. What did you kids get up to when you should’ve been practicing our routine?” 

“I can’t… talk about it. My mother might hear.” 

“Betty!” Veronica protests. “Fine, I’ll just ask you questions. Where did you go?” 

Lowly, glancing at her bedroom door, she says, “His truck.” 

“Oh my god. You never cease to surprise me. Did you have sex?” 

“No. Neither of us had… you know.” 

“So what _did_ you do?” 

Betty turns pink automatically thinking of herself stretched out awkwardly on the truck’s seat, Jughead’s tongue at work, her hands grasping his hair as she chanted his name. “Just… stuff.” 

“Oral for him?”

She can quite literally feel the pink in her cheeks turning to red. “No.” 

“Oral for you?” When Betty is silent, Veronica says, almost proudly, “Atta girl.” 

“Oh my god,” Betty mumbles. “This is so weird to talk about.” 

“Kevin said you said he’s great at it.” 

“ _You talk to Kevin about this_?” Betty asks, her voice turning into a squeak. 

Ignoring her, Veronica says, “I’ve got to say, I’m kind of hurt that you told Kevin and not me that Jughead Jones is good with his mouth.” 

“Veronica, come on. I never ask you about this stuff.” 

“That’s because you have memories of Archie naked as a four year old in baths you shared. I have no such innocent memories of Jughead.” Veronica’s devilish grin is audible. “Betty, seriously, I’m really happy this is happening. You deserve someone who cares about you, and someone who gives you good orgasms. You’re… you’re amazing and you’re my best friend and I love you so much. I want you to have all that.” 

“I know, V,” Betty says, softening. “I know your investment in… um, this part of my life, comes from a place of love.” 

“You’ve had a shitty few months, and I kind of felt like I was spending too much time with Archie and not enough time with you - ”

“Veronica, no,” Betty cuts in. “You were there for me whenever I needed you. Don’t worry about that.” 

“And Jughead was there the other times, right?” Veronica guesses. “Like for Polly’s wedding.” 

Betty nods even though Veronica can’t see her. “He’s been wonderful to me,” she says softly. 

“I’m glad, B,” Veronica says, words full of warmth. “I’m really glad.” 

 

 

“Milkshake?” Betty suggests to Archie after school on Thursday, one strap of her backpack already slung across her shoulder. 

“Sure. You in, Ronnie?” he asks, turning to his girlfriend. 

“Jughead’s coming, too,” Betty says as casually as she can, meeting Veronica’s eyes meaningfully. 

“No, Archiekins, you go ahead,” she says. “I really need to work on my history project.” 

“I thought you were almost done?” he asks. 

“ _Almost_ is a tricky word,” she says easily, and rises onto her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Have fun,” she adds, lifting one eyebrow at Betty before she heads down the hallway. 

“It’s a double-chocolate kind of day, I think,” Archie says, slipping his arms through the straps of his bag. 

“Right there with you, Arch,” Jughead says as he strides up to join them. “Come on, I’ll drive.” 

In the truck, Betty sits between the boys, hands folded neatly in her lap, and holds her body very still so that she doesn’t end up accidentally leaning into either of them when they turn corners. She’s a little nervous, and can’t quite manage to make small talk. 

Thankfully, Archie has things to say: he tells them that his mother’s dating someone in Chicago, and it’s getting serious. He doesn’t sound nearly as morose as he used to when he talked about his parents’ divorce, but he does sound a little glum, and abruptly Betty wonders if this is really the right time to tell him. She doesn’t want to throw even more change at him, not when he’s already trying to adjust to the fact that his mother is really and truly moving on from his father. She tries to catch Jughead’s eye to see if she can figure out his opinion on the matter, but all his attention is on the road. 

Then, completely surprising her, Archie says, “She seems happy. And I really want her to be happy.” 

Betty turns to him, feeling sort of proud. “Of course you do, Arch. You’re a good guy and you love her.” 

He sighs. “Yeah. I mean, it’s weird, but… I’ll get used to it.” 

“You will,’ she agrees, smiling at him. 

At Pop’s, they settle into a booth, Archie on one side, Betty and Jughead on the other, and put in their milkshake orders. Archie doesn’t seem to find it at all weird that they’ve chosen to sit next to each other, which makes sense - since he and Veronica started dating, it’s always been this way; it’s just like they’ve left Veronica’s seat empty, in case she decides to show up. 

While they wait for their milkshakes, they talk about the football scholarships Archie might be in the running for, and the rumour that Moose and Midge have called it quits, and Jughead’s adventure in amateur wedding photography. Betty waits until their shakes have arrived, then takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders back, and says, “Hey, Arch.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

Under the table, Jughead’s pinky finger makes brief contact with her thigh. “I… want to tell you something.” 

“Sure, shoot,” Archie says, head tilted slightly as he regards her. 

She glances at Jughead, who blinks at her slowly in a way that seems to take the place of an encouraging nod, and she says, “Juggie and I are… together. Romantically. Dating, I mean. We’re dating.” 

Archie looks at her, and then at Jughead, his brow knitting for only a moment before he snorts a laugh. “Good one.” He plucks the cherry off his milkshake. “You almost had me.” 

Betty feels like she turns in slow motion toward Jughead, her eyes wide with disbelief. _Help me_. 

He clears his throat. “She’s serious, man,” he tells Archie. “We’re together. She’d be wearing my letterman jacket if I had one.” 

Despite the confusion that seems to have taken over every inch of Archie’s face, Betty can’t resist telling Jughead, all sweetness and innocence, “You can wear my Vixens jacket any time you want.” 

He rolls his eyes at her, tipping his head toward Archie as if to say _focus_ , but beneath the table he slides his fingers along the inseam of the leggings she’s wearing, his fingertips against the thin fabric teasing her in retaliation for her joke. 

“ _What_.” It isn’t really a question, and Archie’s looking between them rapidly, like Vegas watching a tennis ball being tossed back and forth. Betty’s heart sinks, her mirth forgotten. She remembers it being a bit odd for the first week or so, after Archie and Veronica announced they were together, but she’d been genuinely happy for them. Maybe it’s different when your childhood best friends sit you down with a milkshake and tell you they’re dating; maybe it feels like you’re being left behind, maybe it feels like something fundamental about your life is changing. 

She doesn’t know what to say, and it appears that Jughead doesn’t either - he’s just as silent as she is. 

“ _What?_ ” Archie says again. This time is sounds more like a question, and it’s accompanied by a laugh bubbling out of his mouth. “You guys are together? Holy shit.” He beams. “Holy shit, this is _awesome_.” He laughs again. “Veronica’s going to plan like a hundred double dates.” Still beaming, he extends his arms to gesture to both of them. “My two best friends!” 

Betty breathes out very slowly, unable to keep from smiling back at him. “You’re happy?”

“Of course. Dude!” He looks at Jughead. “If you hurt her, I’m going to have to hurt you.” He turns his grin back toward Betty. “And if you hurt him - I mean, I’m not going to punch you, but I’ll be mad. And definitely don’t hurt each other, because then none of us will be in good shape.” 

“Arch,” Betty says, laughing softly as she shakes her head. “How about nobody gets hurt?” 

“Even better.” He leans back to survey them, looking satisfied. “I’ve got to text Ronnie.”

“Let me tell her,” Betty says, reaching a hand out when he grabs his phone. 

“Okay,” Archie agrees easily. “But do it today, okay? There’s no way I can keep this a secret. Oh, holy shit!” he says again, something new occurring to him. “I’ll get to be your kids’ godfather, right?” 

“Oh my god, Archie,” she says, embarrassed. “No one is having kids.”

“Yeah, but hypocritically - ”

Jughead cracks a grin then, one that matches Archie’s in its brightness. “You mean hypothetically?” 

“Whatever, man, I mean if there _were_ kids, in the future - ” 

Betty sneaks a peek over at Jughead, hoping this tangent of Archie’s isn’t totally freaking him out, but he’s just shaking his head, looking about as full of fondness as she feels. Archie is about five seconds away from suggesting they name their future, hypothetical progeny after him, but Jughead just listens, wrapping his fingers around Betty’s and giving them a gentle squeeze. 

 

 

tbc.


	16. Chapter 16

True to everyone’s expectations, Veronica does indeed want to organize numerous double dates. Once she’s run out of suggestions for activities that can be done in Riverdale (movies, dinners, bowling, drinks at her place, picnics by Sweetwater River the moment it’s warm enough), she expands the geographical bounds of her plans, and before Betty knows it, Veronica’s planning weekend getaways to New York and has all but drawn up an itinerary for the trip to Malibu she wants the four of them to take after graduation. 

Betty is deeply appreciative of Veronica’s enthusiasm, and she’s grateful for all her friends, not only Veronica but Archie and Kevin as well. They’ve all been supportive as her family’s imploded, and now they’re all so happy for her that it makes her throat ache if she thinks about it for too long. She loves them, even if she’s embarrassed when Veronica beams in a way that’s almost aggressive when Jughead casually takes her hand in the hall, even if she wishes Kevin would stop teasing her with questions full of innuendo, even if she’s mildly concerned that Archie is really and truly convinced that in the future she and Jughead will marry, have a kid, and name him godfather - 

\- it’s a truly overwhelming thing to think about, even if her own sister, only two years her senior, is now married with a baby on the way, because, well, does anyone _really_ expect to end up with their high school boyfriend? Isn’t Polly the exception, rather than the rule? And _were_ they to beat the odds, would she end up living out that future life with the support of her parents, or without it? How much does that matter to her, in the end? Is it something she wants, something she can imagine, being with Jughead Jones for the rest of her days? Should she try scribbling _Betty Jones_ in a spiral-bound notebook? - 

\- even if her friends are _too much_ from time to time. They are the family she’s chosen, and she wouldn’t really have things any other way, though there _are_ some things she won’t compromise on when it comes to her new relationship, no matter how much Veronica pouts or Kevin huffs or Archie makes puppy-dog eyes. 

The first date is one of them. 

 

 

As they’d planned, she and Jughead go to a movie on Saturday night. In the mid-afternoon, Betty stands in a towel in her bedroom and inspects the contents of her closet critically. Jughead’s seen her in her usual jeans-tee-cardigan uniform, in her hunter green skirt, in her pyjamas, in her underwear, in nothing at all - it doesn’t matter what she wears, but still, she can’t help but want to put together an outfit that will make him stare at her and silently swear like he had in Boston. 

The dress she finally chooses (burnt orange, minuscule white polka dots, three-quarter length sleeves) probably isn’t going to inspire any expletives, but as she sweeps half of her hair back in a tortoiseshell clip, she finds that she likes what she sees in the mirror. Her mind isn’t supplying its usual criticisms, listing off all the ways she’s failed at perfection. She doesn’t care that the pimple on her chin is still sort of visible under her concealer; she doesn’t turn to the side and suck in her breath and imagine how she’d look if her stomach were concave; she doesn’t question her choice of outfit or lipstick. 

She looks into her hands, studying the faint scars her nails have left in her palms. She can remember doing the same thing five weeks into her sessions with her first therapist, standing in her room watching her palms turn red with blood, tears in her eyes that never quite managed to fall, feeling sure her brokenness was a permanent thing. She can remember holding her acceptance letter to Columbia in those same hands hands, fingers curling slightly, crinkling the paper, feeling hopelessly, utterly unchanged. 

And she can remember the cool condensation on a Pop’s to-go cup filled with strawberry milkshake against those scars, the wind stinging her eyes, her hand forming a familiar fist when she knocked on a trailer door. 

She looks at herself in the mirror, at the happy eyes of the girl staring back at her, and wonders if this is what it is to be okay. 

 

 

Betty drives her mother’s car to the Jones’ trailer, gets out, and raps on the door like she did all those months ago. When it swings open to reveal Jughead, she finds herself overwhelmed by the picture in front of her, by his nice blue-and-grey plaid shirt that she’d love to wrap herself up in, by the bouquet of tulips he’s holding, by the messy hair that isn’t hidden under a beanie. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hey,” he replies, his smile almost sheepish. “I know this is all sort of backwards, and I should be picking you up and giving you the flowers, because I'm sure you're not going to want to take them with you to a movie, but… I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do.” 

“They’re really pretty,” she says as she steps inside, accepting the bouquet when he holds it out to her. “Thank you, Juggie.” She leans in over the flowers to kiss him softly. 

His hand rests briefly on her waist. “You’re welcome.” 

She touches one of the tulips very gently, its petals soft against her fingertips. “You’re right, I probably shouldn’t take them to the theatre. Can I put them in some water here?” 

“Sure.” He leads the way into the kitchen and digs around in the cupboards for a glass large enough while she unwraps the plastic and the paper surrounding the bouquet. He fetches her scissors when she asks for them, and Betty fills the glass with water, mixes in the little packet of plant food, and then trims the stem of each flower. 

Jughead leans against the counter and watches her, says, “I didn’t realize giving a girl flowers meant giving her a bunch of work.” 

“It’s not work,” she says, arranging the flowers carefully in the tall glass he’s found. She thinks it’s a pint glass, meant to hold beer. She wipes her hands on a threadbare dish towel, her heart fluttering in her chest. “You’re not wearing your beanie,” she notes in a quiet voice. 

He lifts a hand automatically and rakes his hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He smiles at her again, not quite showing teeth, and she realizes that he’s nervous, too. “I heard you like my hair.” 

Betty grins. “I do,” she confirms, moving toward him, and she slides her fingers between dark strands when he dips his head and kisses her. 

 

 

When she tries to pay for her own ticket, Jughead gives her a little nudge and says, “Two, please,” holding bills out to the man at the box office. She opens her mouth to protest but he says, “Let me, Betts,” with such an earnest look on his face that she swallows her objections. 

He pays for snacks, too, two medium cups of soda, a large popcorn, and a bag of M&Ms. He makes a sour face that has her rolling her eyes when he accidentally takes a drink of her soda instead of his own. 

“It’s just diet, Jug,” she says. 

He throws some popcorn in his mouth. “The aspartame offends my taste buds.” 

“Oh, your taste buds are discerning, huh?” 

“Yeah.” His gaze on her face feels hot all of a sudden. “They know what they like.” His hand comes up to touch her burning cheek, his fingers slightly slick with popcorn grease. “I love that you still do that.”

“Blush like a middle schooler?” she says wryly, and then adds, “What do you mean, still?” 

“I just mean… we’ve, you know,” Jughead says, glancing at the row of preteens behind them. “But still, sometimes all I have to do is say something, and you turn the colour of one of your sweaters.” 

She laughs. “I swear, I’m leaving all of those behind when I move to New York.” 

There’s the slightest pause in the conversation then as they both think the same thoughts: New York is not Riverdale, infinite changes loom in the coming months of their lives, and while the two of them are only beginning, here in these theatre seats on their first official date, their high school experience is firmly in the midst of its dénouement. Despite the song that will inevitably be played at prom, they will not be forever young. 

But then Jughead smiles at her and asks, “Are you going to adopt the all-black wardrobe of a true city girl?”

“But that’s _your_ wardrobe,” she teases, and then fakes a gasp. “Are _you_ a true city girl?” 

He nods, a glint in his eyes as the lights dim. “Yup. I’m an uptown girl.” 

Betty laughs, tossing a couple pieces of popcorn at him. He slips his arm around her shoulders and she snuggles in closer, kissing the corner of his mouth before she settles in to watch the movie. 

 

 

Afterward, in the parking lot, they approach the passenger side of the car, and Jughead snags her hand to pull her closer before she can circle around to the driver’s seat. Their bodies collide lightly and a little thrill runs through her. She’s slightly riled up from the way he’d been touching her throughout the movie: fingertips on her kneecap, a hand on her thigh, his breath warm on her neck when he’d leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

“I don’t think I’ve told you yet that you look beautiful tonight.”

She smiles her thanks. “You look nice, too. I’m having a really nice time.” It sounds like a lame thing to say, like a _line_ , but it’s true. She looks at their feet for a beat before meeting his eyes. “I always have a good time with you.” 

“Especially when you’re criticizing my grammar,” he jokes. 

She bites the corner of her bottom lip and teases him back, an undercurrent of something a bit less light in her voice, “Especially when you’re using your mouth for things besides giving me _sass_.” She pokes a finger into his chest and his hand closes over hers so that it’s pressed against his flannel shirt, his heartbeat creating a faint rhythm against her palm. When he kisses her, Betty slips her free arm around his shoulders, rising onto her toes. 

“Back to mine?” he murmurs. 

She nods.

 

 

As they drive slowly along the gravel road in Sunnyside that leads to the Jones’ trailer, Jughead suddenly reaches out and puts a hand on her arm. His voice is strained when he says, “My dad’s home.” 

Betty follows his gaze to the trailer and sees that he’s right; there are lights on and some movement behind the blinds. “Oh,” she says. “Well, I can just drop you off - ”

“No,” he cuts in quietly. “I don’t really want to go in there right now.”

She nods and keeps driving, following the road to the trailer and past it, looping around and driving out of the park again. She heads back toward the north side of town and eventually veers right, toward the river. 

She parks near a bank, in an area she knows is a fairly infamous hook-up spot, and in a voice that still sounds stretched too thin Jughead quips, “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, Betty Cooper, but I’m not that kind of girl.” 

Betty smiles softly, turning off the car and taking the keys out of the ignition, dropping them into one of the cupholders. She unbuckles her seatbelt so that she can shift in her seat, turning to face him. She doesn’t say anything, just waits for him. 

Minutes pass before Jughead heaves a sigh, his gaze pinned on the river, and says, “He has a drinking problem. You know this.” 

“Is that why your mom moved away?” she asks gently, after it’s clear he’s not going to continue. 

“Yeah. One of the main reasons, at least. Since then it’s been… a lot of promises. He’s going to get sober, he’s going to be better, he’s going to hold down a job. But I think… these past few months, I think he’s realized that they’re not coming back. My mom and Jellybean. The Jones family is… history. A thing of the past. He's not really trying to get better anymore. He’s been worse.” 

“Your family’s not history, Juggie,” Betty tells him quietly, an ache pulsing in her throat, her hands curled into loose fists. 

He sighs again and turns to look at her, finally meeting her eyes. “We’re never going to live under the same roof again. I talk to JB all the time, but it’s - it’s weird. There’s a distance. She’s growing up, and she’s turning into a person I don’t know. And my mom… ” His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Betty’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch him, to hold him. “She never even asked me if I wanted to go with her. I guess she figured I was a lost cause.” 

“But you’re not,” Betty murmurs. “You know that.” 

Jughead reaches over and takes her hand. She holds it firmly, trying to warm his chilly fingers. “When I go there, when I visit…I don’t belong with them anymore, Betts. I’ve thought about moving to Ohio after graduation for a long time now, but… ” He trails off, and his thoughts seem far away, as restless as the choppy water moving sheets of ice over Sweetwater River. “I’m not sure I belong there. And my dad seems hell-bent on not belonging with anyone. Me, by myself - I guess I'm not worth getting better for.”

_You're worth everything_ , Betty wants to tell him, _and you belong here. You belong with me_. But he's giving her these deliberately guarded pieces of himself, and she wants to handle them with care, not with an onslaught of emotional declarations, so she rubs her thumb over his knuckles and says, “I’m so sorry, Jug. That’s hard, and it's - it's not fair. Of course you're worth it. He's - your dad, he's...sick.” 

He shrugs. There is a heaviness in his shoulders that it pains her to look at. “Yeah, well," he mutters, and she gets the sense that he's tried to tell himself the things she's saying now before, without much success. "It’s like Tolstoy said, right? You’ve got an unhappy family of your own.” 

“And you’ve helped me with that. So if there’s any way I can help you… I want to.”

One corner of his mouth turns upward. “I don’t have any pressing road-trip needs.”

“I mean more than that. I mean anything.” 

“I know you do.” He squeezes her hand, and even in the darkness, she can see sincerity in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, Betts.” 

She stretches across the car’s centre console to kiss him. She means for it to be quick, light, but he kisses her back with intensity, with feeling, and she finds herself bracing her free hand against his chest as his own hand lifts to the back of her head, fingers sinking into her hair in a way that’s almost painful, keeping her as close to him as possible as he coaxes her mouth open with a swipe of his tongue over the seam of her lips. 

When the kiss breaks, she sinks back into her seat to relieve the awkward pressure on one of her hips from the way she’s sitting and takes a deep breath. She’s still holding his hand as she teases him, “Thought you weren’t that kind of girl.” 

He blows out a breath that’s mostly a sigh, though it contains just the barest hint of laughter. “I’m sorry. This is all so ass-backwards. That’s what we should be doing right now - ” He gestures between their mouths, “ - not talking about my dad.” 

“It’s not,” Betty protests. “I mean, it is, but - I want to know you. All of you. And every single thing we’ve done so far has been backwards, so this is actually...pretty perfect." 

“I thought you hated that word,” he murmurs, brushing flyaway wisps of hair out of her face. 

“I do,” she says, “because _I’m_ not _that_ kind of girl.” She clambers over the centre console ungracefully, ending up half on his seat, half on his lap, but she doesn’t do much to prove what kind of girl she is or isn’t once she gets there, just wraps her arms around him and tucks her face against his neck. 

“I love you,” she mouths soundlessly against his skin. Beneath her, she can feel the tension in his body unwind and release as his fingers skim up and down the ridges of her spine, and in the silence she knows, all of a sudden, that she could say it, really say it, words at an audible volume, and that she wouldn’t have to be scared, wouldn't have to worry about being careful with his feelings or her own. 

She knows, just _knows_ , that he’d say it back. 

 

 

She drops him off fifteen minutes before her curfew and blurts, just as he’s about to open his door, “You can stay at my place if you want.” 

Jughead smiles over at her, one eyebrow arching. “How’d you explain that to your warden?” 

“I’d figure it out,” Betty says firmly, though in truth she thinks only upper-middle-class unwavering politeness would prevent Alice from kicking Jughead out of the house, and she knows with certainty that they’d have a lengthy fight in whispers after bidding him goodnight. 

“I believe it,” he says lightly. “But it’s not necessary.” 

“I’m sure you could stay at Archie’s, if you don’t want to involve my parents.”

“And I’m sure Archie’s in Veronica’s room at the Pembrooke right now.” 

“You know Fred would invite you in, no questions asked.” 

“Betty.” He reaches over and sets his hand atop hers on the steering wheel. “It’s fine. I promise. I’m good.” 

“Okay,” she says with a small smile. 

“Thanks for talking with me,” he says quietly. “Listening.” 

“Any time, Juggie. Always.” 

He leans over and kisses her before he gets out of the car. Over his shoulder, he says, “Text me when you get home.”

Little smile still on her face, she promises, “I will.”

 

 

The middle of the school week finds Betty with Jughead again, cuddled against his side in a booth at Pop’s. She sees him every day at school - before the first bell in the Blue & Gold office, in the cafeteria at lunch time, after school back in the newspaper office or sneaking kisses by her locker before she rushes off to cheer practice - but she still appreciates every moment they get to spend together outside of Riverdale High, when she doesn’t have frog dissections or newspaper layouts lingering in the back of her mind and when she doesn’t have to worry about one of her teachers rounding a corner and finding sweet Betty Cooper, their very best student, in a decidedly compromising position. 

Now that they’re officially together, she no longer has to keep her hands to herself unless they’re in his bedroom on a Saturday night, and she feels a bit high on the newfound freedom of it all. Betty never thought she’d be a PDA person, having always crinkled her nose at handsy couples in the past, but it appears that she is. She’s not making out with Jughead in the diner booth or anything, but she does have an arm wrapped around the knee of the leg he’s got propped up on the leather seat and her head on his shoulder, and the way he slips a hand into her hair to rub gently at her scalp makes her feel totally blissful. 

On the other side of the booth, Veronica props her chin in her hand and sighs as she regards them. “Oh, Archiekins,” she says, her voice veering toward singsong, as it so often does when she’s teasing, “Were we ever so precious?” 

“Oh, Archiekins, were you?” Jughead asks wryly, mimicking Veronica’s inflection. “Oh, _do_ say you were.” 

Veronica rolls her eyes, Betty giggles, and Archie chucks a fry at Jughead - which he manages to catch in his mouth, much to both the boys’ delight. 

“Seriously, I don’t even need a milkshake,” Veronica says. “The two of you give me a toothache.” 

“I’ll drink it,” Jughead says, extending a hand toward her glass. 

“Stop,” Betty chides, batting his hand back. He slides his fingers further into her hair and quirks an eyebrow her; she quirks one right back. 

He kisses her, then, the firm press of his lips to her own. It’s a quick thing, a publicly-appropriate kiss if there ever was one, but she can feel herself going pink nonetheless. He’s never kissed her in front of Archie and Veronica before, and it feels like it means something, something unspeakably good. 

“Get a room,” Archie mumbles around a mouthful of hamburger. 

Betty throws him a look. “You guys make out in front of us _all_ the time.” 

“Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there,” Veronica says primly, straightening up. “We have more important things to discuss, like the location of our first double date.” 

Archie looks over at her, swiping his mouth with a napkin quickly before he says, “I thought this was it?”

“Oh, Archiekins, _heavens_ no,” Jughead says in his Veronica voice, which sounds a bit more like Adeline Archer than Veronica Lodge, “Our first double date will have gravitas.” 

Veronica narrows her eyes at him. Betty presses her lips together to keep from laughing this time. 

Before anyone can say anything more, however, the diner door swings open and Kevin walks in, making a beeline toward their table as soon as he spots them. 

“You all need tracking devices,” he says, a bit breathless. “I’ve been texting; does no one check their phone anymore?”

“Sorry, Kev,” Betty says, reaching for her purse to get her phone out, but he shakes his head and shoves his own phone at her instead. 

“Look,” he says. His hand is trembling slightly. 

She blinks, accepting the phone. It takes her a second to focus on the words on the screen, another second to realize she’s reading an e-mail, another few seconds to skim the first paragraph, and then several more seconds after that to process what she’s read. 

“Oh my god,” she breathes, when she has. “Kevin!” She hops up to throw her arms around his neck in a hug. 

“I know,” he says, squeezing her back. “It’s earlier than I expected, but… ”

“Congratulations,” she tells him warmly as they pull apart. 

“Share with the class,” Veronica prompts from behind her. “What’s going on?” 

Betty turns and holds Kevin’s phone out to the table. “Kev got into Dartmouth!”

There is a string of congratulations, more hugs and hearty pats on the back. They order a new round of milkshakes to celebrate.

As they settle back into the booth, Betty finds herself wondering if Kevin’s told his boyfriend. He’s always been forthcoming about the physical side of things but quiet when it comes to feelings; she’s met Joaquin a handful of times, only briefly, and while he’d seemed a little sullen, he was cute when he smiled, and Kevin’s only ever had good things to say about him in the ten months they’ve been together. Despite all his prying since Betty’s started dating a boy of her own from the South side, Kevin’s hasn’t opened up to her about things with Joaquin, and she wonders, now, if she should start doing some prying of her own. 

But it doesn’t really matter how much Kevin’s kept to himself, because she knows this town, she understands the cyclical nature of history, and she’s seen the bottom of a serpent’s tail poking out beneath the cuff of the sleeve of Joaquin’s leather jacket. It’s enough to know how unlikely it is that the boy Kevin’s been with for nearly a year has visions of himself walking through student-peppered quads and courtyards in Hanover. 

When Jughead props his leg back up onto the booth, laughing at something Archie’s said, Betty slips her arm around his knee again, holding on a little more tightly. 

 

tbc.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for you. Yeah, YOU. Thank you so much for sticking with this story even though the wait for this chapter was ridiculous. My apologies for the delay!

Two weeks after Kevin’s exalted announcement at Pop’s, Betty receives an acceptance letter of her own, from Sarah Lawrence. She’s not going to go - she’s already committed to Columbia - but the news makes Betty’s mother smile her most genuine smile, the one that’s so often rooted in victory, and her father puff out his chest. They are proud of their perfect daughter, and they tell her as much as Betty picks at her dinner, staring at the empty chair that was once her sister's. 

Sometimes she thinks about what it will be like once she goes off to college and her parents are alone by themselves in this big, beautiful house, always eating dinner at a sensible hour, always drawing the curtains closed at dusk, forever tapping out _Register_ articles at their matching desks in their home office, a gulf of silence between them. She can’t imagine that this was what they’d wanted, what they’d envisioned, when they were young, when Polly was just a baby. The thought makes her unspeakably sad, and, if she lets it linger too long, afraid. Does everyone start out wanting more and settling for less? Betty’s own visions for her future are laid out in such bright technicolour that she can’t imagine coming back to this, to a quiet dinner at which each of her parents are wearing a beige piece of clothing - but there are areas, still, that are grey, and she wonders if grey is the colour that will most easily turn to beige, given the chance. 

“Your mother and I have a conference to attend this weekend,” Hal says as he sets down his utensils, breaking the silence. 

“Oh,” Betty says. “Okay.” 

“We’ll be leaving on Friday evening and returning midday Sunday,” Alice says. “You know the rules while we’re gone.”

“Yes, Mom.” 

Apparently her assent isn’t good enough, because Alice reminds her of the most important rule anyway: “No visitors, Elizabeth. Especially not that Andrews boy.” 

Betty’s teeth clench around the green bean she just ate off her fork. She chews, swallows, and tries to keep her jaw from tightening again as she grits out, “It’s _Archie_ , Mom; you know his name. We’ve been neighbours for fourteen years.”

Her mother regards her with entirely blank eyes for a moment, and then sets down her wine glass without looking away for even a second. Alice’s right eyebrow creeps up and up and up, until Betty begins to fear it will disappear right into her hairline. 

She blows out her breath and stabs a carrot with her fork. “I won’t have anyone over,” she murmurs. 

Alice’s eyebrow begins to descend, and Hal picks up his fork and knife again to cut into his meat. “We trust you, sweetheart,” he says blithely. 

Betty squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “Thanks,” she says. 

 

 

She tells Dr. Martin about the acceptance letter at her next appointment. She also tells her therapist that she has a boyfriend, fingers twisting together nervously in her lap. 

“Two pieces of good news,” Dr. Martin says warmly. “That’s wonderful. Which should we start wtih?” 

Betty quits fidgeting, folding her hands. “I think… with Jughed,” she says, feeling just a bit of heat spike in her cheeks. 

She’s told Dr. Martin about all kinds of things: about how she sometimes felt powerless against the impulse the dig her nails into her palms, about how broken she often felt beneath her perfect veneer, about the thoughts she’d had that made her feel scared of herself, about the simultaneous sensations of pressure and defeat that come with being Alice Cooper’s daughter. She’s cried in this office, and made herself bleed - but this moment, right now, when she says _Jughead_ , marks the very first time she’s seen Dr. Martin lose her professional poise, a single wrinkle appearing in her forehead. 

“Jug Head?” Dr. Matin repeats. 

A grin stretches across Betty’s face. “His real name actually might be worse.”

 

 

She tells her friends, Jughead included, during lunch hour at school. She drops it into conversation casually, not wanting to sound like she’s boasting, especially since most of them are still waiting to hear from the schools they applied to. 

Veronica smiles and says, “You’re such a rockstar, B,” while Kevin nods along in agreement, and Jughead gives her hand a squeeze as he offers a quiet, “Congrats,” but Archie drops his head to the table and groans. 

“Don’t stress too much, Arch,” Betty says sympathetically, though she knows this is easy advice for someone in her shoes to give. 

“You offered to help me to study for the SATs like twenty times,” he says miserably. “I only took you up on it twice.” 

“It’s alright, babe,” Veronica says, petting his hair. “You were studying other things.” 

Kevin makes a gagging noise, but it seems to cheer Archie up. “I wish I could just major in you,” he says, leaning over to give Veronica a kiss. 

A phone chimes then; it’s Kevin’s, and after he glances at the message he says, “Just in time, a repireve from this public display of heterosexuality. I’ll see you in physics, Veronica, Betts.” 

“See you, Kevin,” Betty says, offering him a little wave. She’d caught him by the elbow in the hallway last week and reminded him that she was around if he ever wanted to talk, even if she’d seemed a bit preoccupied with Jughead lately, but he hasn’t yet taken her up on the offer. To be fair, she hasn’t exactly made an effort to discuss her own post-high school boyfriend angst with him, either, so she’s decided not to push it for the moment. She still needs time with it, on her own, so maybe he does, too. 

With Kevin gone, Veronica takes a break from leaning in close to Archie and giggling flirtatiously to announce that she’s decided on the location of their first official double date. She waits for a moment, as though she’s expecting a drumroll, and then declares, “We’re going to the roller rink in Greendale.”

“The roller rink in Greendale?” Betty repeats, sliding her gaze toward Archie. 

“I’ve been informed that it’s somewhat decrepit, Betty; there’s no need to look at him like that. But I’m willing to overlook that particular… attribute, because I think it will be quaint. Very retro, you know.” She smiles hopefully. “So what do you say?” 

Betty turns to Jughead. He shrugs and tells Veronica, “I’m there if Betty is.” 

“ _Awwww,_ ” Archie drawls, only to frown and say, “Hey!” when Jughead kicks him beneath the table. 

Betty and Veronica roll their eyes in near-pefect unison. “We’re in,” Betty says. 

 

 

Veronica comes over on Saturday to get ready with Betty since her parents away, and since Archie is borrowing his father’s truck, so they’ll be departing from the driveway next door. She talks Betty into a flippy faux-leather skater skirt (“it’s _appropriate_ , B”) but Betty wins out when it comes to dressing the top half of her body and gets to wear her own shirt, a snug white sweater with a pocket on one side of the chest that has a little embroidered rose poking out of it. 

Wearing a fake smile as Veronica dusts blush over her cheeks, Betty wonders if she should ask her best friend for her thoughts on what comes after they've graduated from Riverdale High. Archie’s been particularly worried about his individual future for the past few days, but there’s also the question of _their_ future, Archie and Veronica’s, together. Betty wonders how often Veronica thinks about it, and what she feels when she does. Despite having known Veronica for a while now, and despite having intimate knowledge of some of her demons, Betty still struggles to imagine Veronica worrying; unlike Betty, who will dig her worries into her body, teeth in her lips, nails in her palms, Veronica is much more likely to beat her problems into submission. 

“V,” she begins carefully, but she doesn’t get any further. A car horn blares repeatedly outside, and Veronica snaps her blush compact closed with a half-hearted roll of her eyes. 

“The _one_ time they choose to be punctual,” she laughs, going over to Betty’s mirror to touch up her lipstick. 

Betty approaches the window and opens it so that she can lean outside. Archie’s pulled Fred’s truck up in front of her house, the passenger side by the curb, and Jughead’s got his forearm laid over the edge of the open window. 

“Hey there, Juliet,” he calls up when he spots her in her window. He smiles, and even at a distance, the sight makes Betty’s heart somersault. “Nurse off duty?”

“Ronnie!” Archie yells from behind him. “You’re already beautiful! Let’s go!” He leans on the horn again, and a minute later cranky Mr. Henderson from down the block has opened _his_ window and is berating the boys. 

Betty ducks back inside with a hand pressed over her mouth to hold in laughter. 

 

 

Veronica’s idea turns out to be a good one; the evening is one of lighthearted, carefree fun. Betty doesn’t think about college once. 

Not long after they arrive, once Veronica’s done wrinkling her nose at the skates she’s handed and has layered a pair of Archie’s socks over her own before slipping them on, she and Archie take off around the rink. Betty and Jughead move more slowly: he’s a bit like a baby gazelle in his skates, teetering precariously. She skates backward, holding both his hands in her own and offering pointers. She can’t help but kiss the pout that threatens to take over his mouth when he doesn’t have the hang of it within five minutes. 

He does get into the swing of things, though, and soon enough they’re doing laps of the rink, their fingers laced together. Jughead squeezes her hand every now and then, and even with eighties pop music blasting from the rink’s speakers, Betty feels utterly at peace. 

Eventually, the boys abandon their skates in favour of digging into a platter of nachos. Betty skates around with Veronica for a while, their arms linked, and then they try - and fail spectacularly - to do elegant pirouettes in their roller skates. They give up and, clinging to each other for balance, go join their boyfriends. 

Betty moves to sit next to Jughead on one side of the table, but he tugs her onto his lap instead. She settles in, resting her head against his shoulder momentarily. 

He strokes her leg, just above her knee, and murmurs, for her ears only, “I like this skirt.”

She lifts her head to look at him, slipping her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re coming over after, right?” she asks softly. 

He nods, slow and certain. “Definitely.” 

 

 

Back in Riverdale, Betty opens her front door cautiously, taking slow steps as she walks inside, half expecting her parents to pop out from behind a corner at any moment and ground her for the rest of her life. When nothing happens and the house remains silent, she exhales, relieved, and flicks on the hall light. 

“We’re good,” she tells Jughead, taking off her boots. 

He looks amused. “I thought they were gone for the weekend?” 

“They are. Theoretically. But with my mom, you never know. Water?” she offers, making her way to the kitchen. 

Jughead says, “Sure,” falling into step behind her. He doesn't walk as quickly as she does, taking his time to look around, observing the heavy curtains and the pristine surfaces and the family photos on the walls. It occurs to her that it’s been quite some time since Jughead was in her house - probably not since an elementary school birthday party. 

He catches up with her as she’s reaching up into a cupboard to take out two glasses. Once she’s set them on the countertop, she feels his mouth press against her neck; it’s a soft touch, at first, but she arches into it and his hand comes to rest against her hip as he kisses her skin more thoroughly, doing something with his mouth that hurts _just_ the right amount to make it feel amazing. 

“Jug,” she sighs, leaning back into his chest. He loops his arm around her, holding her to him, and uses his other hand to brush her hair away from her neck so he can keep sucking and nipping at her skin. Instinctively, she presses her ass back against him a little, and he grinds against her in turn. 

She goes to turn around in his arms, wanting to kiss him, but before she can move Jughead lifts his hand to her breast and squeezes. She’s wearing a fairly padded bra under her sweater, one that she’d hoped would make her chest look particularly appealing to him but which is now creating an undesirably thick barrier. She moves her hands to the hem of her shirt, and Jughead’s with her, he gets it right away; he replaces her hands with his own, peels the shirt over her head, and slips his hand into the cup of her bra a half-second later. 

“Oh,” Betty gasps, and when his hand goes still she explains, “Cold. It’s okay.” 

He cups her breast in his palm, kneads it gently; she can feel that he’s grown hard in his jeans. He pinches her nipple between his forefinger and thumb and all of a sudden her thirst doesn’t matter, not at all - she needs more of this, more of him, and all she can think about is getting him to her bedroom. 

“Jughead,” she says in a breathy voice that barely sounds like it belongs to her, and _my room_ is on the tip of her tongue, but the words never make their way out of her mouth, because the hand that’s not in her bra slips under her skirt and presses against her over her tights and panties, rubbing just right. 

A small moan escapes her, and she finds herself leaning back into him even more, her knees going a little weak. His mouth against her ear, Jughead breathes, “Shit, you’re wet.” He tugs at her earlobe with his teeth, groans, “ _Betty._ ” 

She shifts her hips, pressing against his hand, and it’s good, so good, but not enough. “Juggie,” she whispers. She finds her feet underneath herself again and presses her ass back against where he’s straining against his jeans, placing one hand on the counter and leaning forward just a little. This is new territory for her, for both of them - something she's only read about, back during her days of pre-virginity-loss incognito-mode Google research - but if he can read the little hint she’s giving him, if he wants to try it this way, then she does, too. 

His hand moves out of her bra and downward, pressed against her upper abdomen for a moment, keeping her as close to him as possible as he fumbles through undoing his belt with his free hand, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He grinds against her again and then puts both hands beneath her skirt and tugs her tights down her legs, crouching down when he reaches her calves. He kisses the back of one of her knees as he helps her step out of them, and Betty shivers. Her panties come off next, and she glances down as he straightens to see him kick his jeans and boxers off of one of his ankles. 

He gives her a signal in return then, answers her silent _want to?_ with a wordless _yes_ , lifting up her skirt and then pressing his palm gently but firmly to her lower back so that she bends over, forearms braced against her mother’s kitchen counter. He flicks open the clasp of her bra and she has to shift around a little to get it off entirely, tossing it onto the floor. 

“Betts,” he groans, cupping both of her breasts for a moment before his hands land on her bare hips. “Tell me if you want to stop, yeah?” 

She shakes her head, nearly dizzy with her want of him. The only thing she can think of to say is, “Don’t. Don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t. Less than a minute later he’s inside of her, his fingers tight on her hips, whispering, “ _oh, fuck_ ,” as he finds a rhythm, thrusting into her, and she is so _full_ of him, more than she’s ever been before, and it’s pulling high little gasps from the back of her throat, sounds that she can’t control, making her cry out his name, “ _Juggie_ ,” the word seemingly drawn out into an endless number syllables as it falls from her mouth. 

“God, Betty, baby, touch yourself,” he all but grunts, and she carefully shifts most of her upper body’s weight to her left arm so that she can slip her right hand between her legs to rub her clit, and it’s so overwhelming that she whimpers, her hair falling into her face, strands sticking to her lips, and when she says, “Juggie,” again his response is just one word, “ _Come_ ,” and with one last little circle of her middle finger, she does. He follows right after, warm and pulsing inside her, a feeling that makes her clench with another burst of pleasure, which causes him to moan - and she realizes then, with a start, that they didn’t use a condom. 

She stretches her back out a little and Jughead leans over her, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder blade. “I love you,” he breathes. “Betty, I love you.” 

She sighs, her heartbeat gradually slowing, and reaches back and up to sink her fingers into his hair. “I love you, too, Juggie.” 

 

 

After they’ve cleaned up - first together with a couple sheets snagged off a roll of paper towel and then individually, in the downstairs powder room - Jughead puts his boxers and jeans back on and Betty slips back into her sweater, gathering her bra, panties, and tights from the floor. The muscles in her legs are a little shaky, and it makes her feel off-balance as she says softly, “We didn’t… use anything.” 

He nods, moving closer to her and rubbing her upper arm lightly before he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I know. I’m sorry. I even - ” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and shows her a couple condoms tucked into the section meant for bills. “I think I just… ” He brow furrows as he puts his wallet away. “I think I got a little primal and blanked. That’s not an excuse, I know - ”

“No, Jug, I - ” She shrugs, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “I did, too. I didn’t even think about it.” 

Jughead nods again, his eyes solemn. “Well… we've only been with each other, so we don’t have to worry much on the disease front. And you’re on the pill, right?” 

“Yeah.” She’s been taking her pill at the exact same time each day, with anal precision, since she approached him about having sex, so she’s fairly confident that it’s working at optimal strength to prevent pregnancy. 

He rests his hand against her cheek and she leans into his touch. “Okay. Good. So… we’re probably good. But you’ll tell me if anything seems off, right?”

She smiles at him softly. “I love you, Jughead.” 

He stamps a kiss against her lips. “I love you, too.” 

Betty looks down at the kitchen’s tiled floor and then back up at him through her lashes, feeling just a little bit shy as she confesses, “I liked it.” 

“Sex that way?” 

“Yeah. And… without a condom.” She slips her tongue out of her mouth and wets her lips. “I felt… really close to you. But we shouldn’t do it again.”

With a sigh, Jughead agrees, “Yeah. Better safe than sorry. But I liked it, too, for the record. It was great. Beyond great. Even beyond excellent. Words have not yet been invented to describe what it was.” 

She giggles. “Maybe someday we’ll do it again,” she says, and regrets the words almost instantly. It’ll be years, probably, before the consequences of unprotected sex might not loom so large for them. To suggest it might happen again is to suggest the kind of long-term commitment they’ve never discussed before. She clears her throat. “I think I’m going to go upstairs and change.” 

Jughead’s expression, thankfully, does not show any hints of alarm. “I’ll meet you up there with water,” he says, nodding to the two glasses she never got around to filling. 

“Sounds good,” she says, and heads for the stairs. 

 

 

In her bedroom, once she’s changed into pyjama pants and a tight-fitting tank top and Jughead is just in his boxers, he says, “I want to show you something.”

He gets up and goes over to her window seat, where his discarded jeans lay, and takes his wallet out again. Betty prepares to roll her eyes, thinking he’s going to pull out a condom as a silly way of suggesting round two, but instead he takes out a paper folded in eighths, rejoins her on the bed, and hands it to her. 

She unfolds it, curious, and finds that it’s an acceptance letter from OSU. She skims it, discovers that it’s not just an offer of admission but also a scholarship offer, and says, “Jughead - you got in.” She beams at him. “I _knew_ you would.” She whacks him gently with the paper before reaching out to hug him. “ _And_ a scholarship.” She squeezes him more tightly and says, in a softer voice, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Betts,” he says, matching her tone, and Betty orders the part of her brain that’s trying to calculate the miles between New York City and Columbus to be silent. 

“This is awesome,” she says, as they pull apart. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it is. I - ” He hesitates, and then says, his words slow as though he’s choosing them carefully, “I was thinking… I might not accept it yet, though. I applied to NYU, too. I thought maybe… I should wait and see what happens.” He studies her face. “What do you think?”

“I - I think that’s a good idea,” she says, trying not to sound too eager. “I think you should… definitely wait and see. What happens.” 

“Okay.” He smiles at her. “I will.”

“Okay,” she echoes, refolding the piece of paper in her hands. The smile she gives him in return is wide and bright, and it disappears only when he kisses it. 

 

 

tbc.


End file.
